tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86414129153698277092024-03-13T01:55:37.636-07:00Life MomentsJoy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.comBlogger354125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-56952882744448893272020-09-17T13:54:00.005-07:002020-09-17T13:54:42.870-07:00We Need Healing<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Just a word. Blogspot has changed everything. I cannot place the pictures. I will be searching for a new blog website. If you have a suggestion, please contact me. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">I live in the northwest part of the United States. We are on fire. My city has been enveloped in such thick smoke we have been told to stay inside. Our air quality is considered hazardous. Day after day goes by without a drop of moisture. As of four days ago, 4.6 million acres had burned. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">That’s a lot of fire. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Even as I write this, my mind turns to the other side of the United States. Hurricane Sally has produced enormous amounts of rain. The flood gates of heaven were opened. Some places received 30” in a matter of hours. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">That’s a lot of rain. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Rain is available. For some reason, the northwest has not been blessed with it. As I watch the devastation caused by the inferno, my mind turns to other dynamics destroying our country, very clearly caused by humans. The rioters are intent on demolishing structures, vehicles and statues. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">That’s a lot of rage. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Our land needs healing. Just as the blazes consuming everything in their path need an outpouring of rain, the hearts and minds of our people need the restorative power of God to set us on a new path. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">We need healing. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD6Wlh_BxWVD9owahWKmxrSIQ8NqyySjIXSBos0dT4JVF1UMPS1mzd8pAYd9tgY7kZra5VZ9SRwLn2K4lpL3W0SQgUlIhfxVsiq3THfnD-dZAeAeVnvRp9EW3XvpHYbo3aThst2_-TPyD/s73/Siggy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="56" data-original-width="73" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD6Wlh_BxWVD9owahWKmxrSIQ8NqyySjIXSBos0dT4JVF1UMPS1mzd8pAYd9tgY7kZra5VZ9SRwLn2K4lpL3W0SQgUlIhfxVsiq3THfnD-dZAeAeVnvRp9EW3XvpHYbo3aThst2_-TPyD/s0/Siggy.png" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 45pt 0.0001pt 40.5pt;"><i>“If my people who are called by my name humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” 2 Chronicles 7:14 (ESV)<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-80933168894787569602020-09-13T14:06:00.000-07:002020-09-13T14:06:37.100-07:00The Air I Breathe<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 49.5pt 0in 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXRhl9g7dGAozMK37SyWnfpHjfR7JpXd4fP-2mG0cQ4cuCSD5odUWmQ_ekoSC7KAZmwEsd5oliP5SlpGMgYx7dWNX2Xu66Gu1hORSJVnJLNORwbYoPf76BtE22n0mPbMNGbOFuZyBA5JI/s1600/forest-fire-2268729__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="656" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDXRhl9g7dGAozMK37SyWnfpHjfR7JpXd4fP-2mG0cQ4cuCSD5odUWmQ_ekoSC7KAZmwEsd5oliP5SlpGMgYx7dWNX2Xu66Gu1hORSJVnJLNORwbYoPf76BtE22n0mPbMNGbOFuZyBA5JI/s320/forest-fire-2268729__340.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white;">As I sit here at my desk, I can see out the patio door. At 1:00 pm the air outside is an otherworldly color. It’s like looking through those yellow sunglasses. It’s filled with heavy smoke from the many fires burning throughout the west. Our air quality index says, “Hazardous” and we have been urged to stay inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Basically, we have already been told to stay inside since March, when the virus struck. And now, in September, we have a double reason to not go outside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4gIUv-5NHLKXiov2qlJALtqhnCcevm3aOua27B833-h5GOe-x_toMwvTMbFYTDLoe_nkmW2Pjw9YMBlKpkfAX7M80WRVvTBqyV92VgLuYKOF-v9T6QFHx-NnNZLy22ULdGKdnxaajnKc/s1600/lungs-2803208__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="340" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4gIUv-5NHLKXiov2qlJALtqhnCcevm3aOua27B833-h5GOe-x_toMwvTMbFYTDLoe_nkmW2Pjw9YMBlKpkfAX7M80WRVvTBqyV92VgLuYKOF-v9T6QFHx-NnNZLy22ULdGKdnxaajnKc/s200/lungs-2803208__340.png" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white;">I’ve never had breathing problems, so considered myself blessed to avoid that type of issue. However, yesterday I went outside long enough to water my plants…maybe 15-20 minutes. Instant headache and cough. When they say, “Stay inside”, they mean it for everyone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I can’t imagine what it’s like for those with compromised lungs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4v4lj0WlJ6FVqpfnQoI_qTKdXHsGna8rxbXpNFRfyL48VsycdTCQseKliJgQvUrRxbYakEAluvsnK6JSWTtgU7WIiR5-rYIaOH4xst23rYU4NqD3rgCnuFYxDUzjB1M25gHeoZyaArhiP/s1600/street-art-2720456__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="340" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4v4lj0WlJ6FVqpfnQoI_qTKdXHsGna8rxbXpNFRfyL48VsycdTCQseKliJgQvUrRxbYakEAluvsnK6JSWTtgU7WIiR5-rYIaOH4xst23rYU4NqD3rgCnuFYxDUzjB1M25gHeoZyaArhiP/s200/street-art-2720456__340.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white;">As I’ve been thinking about the ugly air blanketing my house, my city, my state and several other states, I realize I have no control over that air. All I can do is establish preventative measures. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">But there is more to life than just the physical breathing we do. We are also spiritual beings. Being under a “lockdown” of sorts, gives us plenty of time to consider the source of our spiritual breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">God’s air is pure and abundant…and available for everyone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">“…He Himself gives everyone life and breath…” Acts 17:25 (NLT)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-84493011169457794592020-09-06T15:43:00.000-07:002020-09-06T15:43:52.352-07:00Power Outage<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmjZGgr4BCjXpjhgcg80U5INDq4b0Uwm8z18i1PVMdhcPZlxwiSW-v6QijUEzXawAcOIcgBF-E5AYqLcjna-b3hix82uiznVnQXv62YIm3mFR7JURAjwM8XyREHDQ4om5wEQp6hmOOYdH/s1600/istockphoto-172638659-170667a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="479" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmjZGgr4BCjXpjhgcg80U5INDq4b0Uwm8z18i1PVMdhcPZlxwiSW-v6QijUEzXawAcOIcgBF-E5AYqLcjna-b3hix82uiznVnQXv62YIm3mFR7JURAjwM8XyREHDQ4om5wEQp6hmOOYdH/s200/istockphoto-172638659-170667a.jpg" width="200" /></a>Everything was fine one minute. Then suddenly the lights blinked off, the printer made noises and the television went black. As all that was registering in my brain, the lights came back on. We had experienced a brief power outage. Of course, it was long enough to make the clocks flash and the computers request a sign-in password. I traveled from room to room, getting everything up and running again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Who knew such a brief interlude of no power could affect so much? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once again in the TV room, words bounced around on the screen. Words I didn’t want to see. <i>Receiver is re-starting.</i> And then something about the connection had not been achieved…try again. Those words were repeated in a cycle. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That was the start of a very long evening. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVo9GQjHfS0GhPlklB1dbZc1f0ovIH1OqgY9mEgmvkh7Bj2taalqsPW30A_ist6W7n3JOnpEdHAaOx3ahIhM5DHUnmumtzQRljdKggPb-1DKhyphenhyphenfqPtqGeDPeEA-DMJqmziyOJ-oSge9Mc/s1600/internet-search-engine-1433323__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="509" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbVo9GQjHfS0GhPlklB1dbZc1f0ovIH1OqgY9mEgmvkh7Bj2taalqsPW30A_ist6W7n3JOnpEdHAaOx3ahIhM5DHUnmumtzQRljdKggPb-1DKhyphenhyphenfqPtqGeDPeEA-DMJqmziyOJ-oSge9Mc/s200/internet-search-engine-1433323__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>Even though I am a novice when it comes to techie things, I tried to resolve the issue myself. I Googled. I followed instructions. No luck. I called my guru friend who knows all things techie. He Googled. We tried for probably 30 minutes. No luck. When the words “Step 1 of Step 2 – This is will take a minute” stayed on the screen for much longer than a minute, we stopped trying. So, no TV for the night. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My plans changed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Back to the pushing of numbers and answering robots. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The next guy wanted to start all over again. I said, “No, we’ve already tried all that.” He repeatedly put me on hold to try stuff on his end. After 23 minutes, he said, “You need a new receiver. I will have one shipped to you. You will receive it in 3-5 days.” All of that because the power flicked off and back on. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Life is just like that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ncQSM6ekexMtWk0OeRWp6_6qRcOnUdCL3PiS8viIkpi8L0V9RYDM9VH7Pqhsd_rnib4k1dyL3SI9YOpw18wzPAxLUab6KDEOjwOy7AQIubVMztPxqw4zXxHPRyVpKh7hRwxgvVoQH1wA/s1600/road-sign-1076229__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="247" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ncQSM6ekexMtWk0OeRWp6_6qRcOnUdCL3PiS8viIkpi8L0V9RYDM9VH7Pqhsd_rnib4k1dyL3SI9YOpw18wzPAxLUab6KDEOjwOy7AQIubVMztPxqw4zXxHPRyVpKh7hRwxgvVoQH1wA/s200/road-sign-1076229__340.png" width="145" /></a>One minute you are sailing along and then suddenly your plans are changed. Sometimes it’s just a bump in the road and you are back on track in no time. Other times, no matter what you try it just doesn’t fix it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But we have Someone we can call who is always available…no pushing buttons or answering robots. He understands the problem and has the answers. Sometimes our spirits are calmed, and life continues after a brief talk with Him. Other times the answer isn’t so simple. It takes effort on our part to reach a solution. It may even take longer than 3-5 days. But the result is always worth it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve turned to Him many times. </div>
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<i>“Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble and keep on praying.” Romans 12:12 (NLT)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-19981290942712225592020-08-26T16:45:00.000-07:002020-08-26T16:45:17.253-07:00The Diminishing List<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">
From birth until my marriage at age 17, there were two men in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My brother, Tony, lived with my mother and me until he graduated from high school. I wrote about him in a blog in February, when he passed away. We had remained connected to the end…and beyond. His loss is still very fresh. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KqckPKQwZFQasq7LV3rTM0m3BLi2odk3eyu5Wi2sPms4LzQEA2yaRadflNZWt9Px7kVRSZeva6TU18D_MWEnM1TBMp0okR7Amb6BDRXLPGlS-MTwc3280XhtnnHrf2S4iI5AMHGd7Zsh/s1600/flag-145876__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="525" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KqckPKQwZFQasq7LV3rTM0m3BLi2odk3eyu5Wi2sPms4LzQEA2yaRadflNZWt9Px7kVRSZeva6TU18D_MWEnM1TBMp0okR7Amb6BDRXLPGlS-MTwc3280XhtnnHrf2S4iI5AMHGd7Zsh/s200/flag-145876__340.png" width="200" /></a>The other man was my brother-in-law, Norman. He lived in the same Kansas town as me, was married to the only sister I was close to, and I spent a great deal of time in their company. I called his parents grandma and grandpa. When I had my tonsils out, Norman was the one who picked me up at the hospital and took me to his parents to convalesce. And a week later, when I was pronounced healed and could eat anything I wanted, it was Norman who took me for a hamburger and chips. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQLjaEMqFec8Jh3wW9ztu18QErHcRdzPvO9Yp1X8sGdGoXzGD5q5a8u3zjOpjiFQHHrk0b6C8RERGrqMw2shN8XiZCFHZq0OpocWnGNh9SHbQJxaf03uM5nBdBS_VoGaNAvLT3ou3j7OU/s1600/plymouth-836023__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="453" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQLjaEMqFec8Jh3wW9ztu18QErHcRdzPvO9Yp1X8sGdGoXzGD5q5a8u3zjOpjiFQHHrk0b6C8RERGrqMw2shN8XiZCFHZq0OpocWnGNh9SHbQJxaf03uM5nBdBS_VoGaNAvLT3ou3j7OU/s200/plymouth-836023__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>In my younger years, occasionally I was allowed to spend the night at my sister’s. I felt loved there. We watched Alfred Hitchcock and I Love Lucy. Not sure mother ever knew that. TV was forbidden. Sometimes when they took a vacation, I tagged along with their two daughters. He worked the late shift, so we would leave Kansas in the very early morning when he got off. Our goal was to get out of Kansas before it got too hot. The car had no air conditioning. Boxes were placed between the front and back seats to make a bed for the three children. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbF7X75X1cREj_O3FkEpsa0Y4cveQFkj-ttuUoJ2uEu92AuXDLjG4IdLKkXJgQlfDh9MtaegM6l-LDe2X8IAAtEHpy4Pg1jTWUWTsSSqtcNfjC7BtJcB_XU4Hgkvr9_3qZkJN63SB_TcZz/s1600/cookies-1264263__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="318" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbF7X75X1cREj_O3FkEpsa0Y4cveQFkj-ttuUoJ2uEu92AuXDLjG4IdLKkXJgQlfDh9MtaegM6l-LDe2X8IAAtEHpy4Pg1jTWUWTsSSqtcNfjC7BtJcB_XU4Hgkvr9_3qZkJN63SB_TcZz/s200/cookies-1264263__340.jpg" width="186" /></a>In high school, I was given driver’s ed using simulators. When I received my Learner’s Permit, Norman was the one who took me in his car and let me learn to drive the real thing. One time, after we returned home, I let the very heavy car door close on my finger. He’s the one who drilled a hole in my nail to relieve the pressure. He was like the dad I never had. And when I married, he sang at my wedding. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ten years later, when his wife died and my husband left just a few months apart, Norman still lived in Kansas and I lived in Nebraska. He would drive to my home and do the needed repairs. I would feed him a home-cooked meal (it was his wife who had taught me to cook) and send him home with cookies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I received word last night he passed away. Tears were shed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He had been in my thoughts quite a bit recently, since August 4<sup>th</sup> was his birthday. In his 90’s, he succumbed to the virus. I reflected on his life and how intertwined it had been with mine in those early years. But life passes quickly. It has been probably 40 years since I saw him. That does not lessen the impact he had on my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The list of people left in my birth family is diminishing. That’s what happens when you’re the baby and you get old. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-91165192877033530692020-08-17T16:19:00.000-07:002020-08-17T16:19:04.744-07:00Passing the Baton<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7fDnlPt8sSU_kxuaAQ7mhXTMQ8w_s570WcbWxqdafHvxIPIqLgxcJPB4EELs9jZtNpduBfM06hHV7iHRM5t91vATUsTuy6_spckCotUUwRThhO9WYZI5uXbKKACnk489IbCHibxFQRG7/s1600/17862471_1529127480431477_8184167454431729363_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7fDnlPt8sSU_kxuaAQ7mhXTMQ8w_s570WcbWxqdafHvxIPIqLgxcJPB4EELs9jZtNpduBfM06hHV7iHRM5t91vATUsTuy6_spckCotUUwRThhO9WYZI5uXbKKACnk489IbCHibxFQRG7/s200/17862471_1529127480431477_8184167454431729363_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>As the youngest of nine children, the history and memories of my family had been deposited in the minds of my older siblings and my mother. Since mother rarely talked with me, she didn’t offer much in the way of family history. Some sisters passed away before I was of the age where I was curious about my predecessors. Some sisters never lived in the same state as me and I saw them maybe twice in my life. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUmCoCQBRap4EdccMsazABfoh2qRYClkpOP5ucihmwTdWp8RjL5sahKRGbn-ERlqaU0L5bX49CsQegNhfyhjplbfC50X6ARhJotVJcs5TAoTGcGu0QWzel4CtYri8pDnb3N1irDjpvffZB/s1600/grandparent-2656412__340-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="340" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUmCoCQBRap4EdccMsazABfoh2qRYClkpOP5ucihmwTdWp8RjL5sahKRGbn-ERlqaU0L5bX49CsQegNhfyhjplbfC50X6ARhJotVJcs5TAoTGcGu0QWzel4CtYri8pDnb3N1irDjpvffZB/s200/grandparent-2656412__340-2.png" width="200" /></a>That left me with two brothers who were like a vault of information. Both of them had researched the genealogy of our lineage for generations previous. I really didn’t care too much about the name of my great-great-great grandfather, which I think was Joshua Jehoiada. But tales about names familiar to me were of interest. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Both brothers were storytellers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just listening to them was fascinating. They embellished. Their narratives were full of humor. Unknown relatives came alive as they spun their yarns. They both wrote books full of memories. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One passed away five years ago and the other one in February. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAV9ieiaumaU4U5Ja9d1h1fLZHywI1N1SvYWnQErf_5Pc0ZmZ8I6W3EwQwiFH8_m9k02HLfqviqLdaih5CS35o889aYTQQdxKD40vsoMNHmPVL3LuBe79sRecCYQIRL5V7KZiEuEjkS3Uh/s1600/email-3249062__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="607" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAV9ieiaumaU4U5Ja9d1h1fLZHywI1N1SvYWnQErf_5Pc0ZmZ8I6W3EwQwiFH8_m9k02HLfqviqLdaih5CS35o889aYTQQdxKD40vsoMNHmPVL3LuBe79sRecCYQIRL5V7KZiEuEjkS3Uh/s200/email-3249062__340.png" width="200" /></a>So, when I recently received an email from (if I’ve figured it out correctly) a great-niece, the realization hit me. I’m the older one now. I’m the storehouse of history and memories. It’s surprising to me to be in this position. I’ve been the youngest for all these years. How did I get here? And can I do it justice? <o:p></o:p></div>
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I never knew of her existence. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As the emails fly between us, it’s been enlightening to hear her side of the stories contained in my repertoire. And we are just getting started. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The baton has been passed…and I’m running with it! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“But watch out! Be careful never to forget what you yourself have seen. Do not let these memories escape from your mind as long as you live! And be sure to pass them on to your children and grandchildren.” Deuteronomy 4:9 (NLT<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-87515653761221269492020-08-09T17:41:00.000-07:002020-08-09T17:41:19.859-07:00Purging<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LS64-dt6VRxmvEnyt0hPAWOVqw4iNCTlBR1Q5qfJRYzoi7ykQMhxdFDw7Y69Gwl55u1ZmKc6udX7bvwa05dcdgMfEcAzAkxU6J8W9erk5DAOIUPBeiXHHLWTYEByeQnEsu8XahsguXkF/w200-h149/fire-2265__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="453" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LS64-dt6VRxmvEnyt0hPAWOVqw4iNCTlBR1Q5qfJRYzoi7ykQMhxdFDw7Y69Gwl55u1ZmKc6udX7bvwa05dcdgMfEcAzAkxU6J8W9erk5DAOIUPBeiXHHLWTYEByeQnEsu8XahsguXkF/w200-h149/fire-2265__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>We gathered around a burn barrel behind the church. As instructed, I had my one bracelet, some barrettes, and my roller skates. We were to bring anything unholy and not of God…to be burned. One person after another dropped items into the barrel. As a lover of books, it was hard to watch as volume after volume was tossed into the flames. Some teenagers had several bracelets, rings and necklaces. A few, the horror of it all, had lipstick. </div>
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Our church was being purified. </div>
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Sixty-five years later, those sights and smells, shouts of praises and crying of children are permanently etched in my memory. In the past few weeks, that remembrance has emerged again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I viewed a documentary called American Gospel. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Their books and DVDs were available for purchase at Christian bookstores. That meant they were alright, didn’t it? <o:p></o:p></div>
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In one interview, a well-known pastor explained that going to heaven was easy and the road to hell was very hard to travel; just the opposite of what the Bible says. Books written by people who say they died and went to heaven were compared. No two views of heaven were the same. One author has now totally admitted he made it up. The “heaven tourism” books are big sellers. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have been purging my bookshelves. Even though it pains me, I am no longer comfortable owning books written by what is known as a false teacher. So, I’ve made a few trips to the dumpster. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve learned a lesson in accountability. I am responsible for what I allow to enter my mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.” Philippians 4:8 (NLT)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-76376322491830183162020-06-30T12:49:00.000-07:002020-06-30T12:49:39.730-07:00Finding My Rhythm<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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I had wondered if I would ever get here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, don’t take me wrong. I was living life. Friends. Family. And before the virus…travel. And yes, my brother had recently passed away. But the “wonderful” in my life I was referring to was so much deeper than those things. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My beloved moved to heaven five years ago. At the time, I was numb, moving through my days like a robot. Half of me was missing. I was no longer the same person. But who was I? As the weeks and months passed, my mind began to partially function again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I knew I needed to find a purpose for my days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My second year the frozen parts of me began to thaw. That brought pain. Such pain. Yet, I knew I must go on. As a Christ-follower, I turned to Him without ceasing. <i>Please show me the way. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOZ8gG5FlJkZlkhFqVRXBtz307OXpX0VaNx82IWrvHd3y0Fiasc6BadMYvSQP8f6-5rcF0QxlCuKY_hln0tDbePXOgnNP9CJW9SPRKgfVlRLXyi9SrtFajDG3qS8e9Tru7DS5Dlj6zD0t/s1600/IMG_0085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="369" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOZ8gG5FlJkZlkhFqVRXBtz307OXpX0VaNx82IWrvHd3y0Fiasc6BadMYvSQP8f6-5rcF0QxlCuKY_hln0tDbePXOgnNP9CJW9SPRKgfVlRLXyi9SrtFajDG3qS8e9Tru7DS5Dlj6zD0t/s200/IMG_0085.JPG" width="122" /></a>I was very aware that everyone’s grief journey is different. I read many books describing others’ journeys. There were no rules. It was necessary for me to travel this path at my own speed. Each step of the way, I felt God’s love holding me up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I began to write. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was during year three I felt God speaking to me. First through the words in a book. It spoke of a thousand slender threads coming together, strands of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. That’s where I was. As the days passed, I began to feel writing was my purpose…my ministry. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jUTDvlS8Wzs7sB3FLq-YY-ukQJLpi4HcGc8VleagMxxZsc5H-A8Gtht5IvGy__pPQYXxm9yTYAomNp-EkURw4raC2Fmp8DfgiXAdFFKdnos-URdSctfPwtD52zBXZ7GTLcNw6ie1hMgI/s1600/IMG_1030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jUTDvlS8Wzs7sB3FLq-YY-ukQJLpi4HcGc8VleagMxxZsc5H-A8Gtht5IvGy__pPQYXxm9yTYAomNp-EkURw4raC2Fmp8DfgiXAdFFKdnos-URdSctfPwtD52zBXZ7GTLcNw6ie1hMgI/s200/IMG_1030.jpg" width="200" /></a>So, over the next two years I published two books. But they were words I had already blogged. There wasn’t much thinking involved in placing them in order and printing. The third book was sent to the publisher, but once again they were words already written. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Book four was going to be written from scratch. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was unprepared for how hard that would be. I didn’t know how to start. The jumble of words in my head were just that…a jumble of words. Normally, I don’t procrastinate. Normally, I find time in my day for what matters to me. Normally, I feel I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. In every other area of my life that was still true. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopFN8mA3yuc25Zu9165KYHLSnE9f9KggNpLo754pzk2836NnzPwzfvwX2yzoJle0HjrvYDipfPqjdem6ljM9w5h9EHAojVMcG9rrsqsHvTSUz9JeUGQpgYwIbqzzvkEnANcDyAMRTR1nx/s1600/IMG_1031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopFN8mA3yuc25Zu9165KYHLSnE9f9KggNpLo754pzk2836NnzPwzfvwX2yzoJle0HjrvYDipfPqjdem6ljM9w5h9EHAojVMcG9rrsqsHvTSUz9JeUGQpgYwIbqzzvkEnANcDyAMRTR1nx/s200/IMG_1031.jpg" width="150" /></a>Book four was still a pile of papers and binders, items to help trigger thoughts and even some notes in my husband’s handwriting. The book was about him…his cancer journey. My aspiration for my words was that others would see how God had traveled that journey with us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was overwhelming. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s where the Coronavirus comes in. It was a pattern interrupt. My daily routine got changed. Which made me stop and consider my priorities. As an organized person, I like to have a slot for everything. So, I tried a new routine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Didn’t work. Still no writing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As the weeks of isolation continued, so did the changes in my routine. Days were becoming smoother. The peripheral activities had fallen away. The marginal pursuits were replaced with meaningful endeavors. My focus was no longer scattered. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m making it sound like I’m about to write an epic manuscript. That’s not what this is about. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have discovered a life rhythm that works for me in my new normal. It’s like the radio is finally on the station. (That dates me doesn’t it?) God is still in control. My inner peace has remained. I have continued to sleep soundly every night. But as I move through this passage in time, my days have achieved balance. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hence, I can sit on the patio and savor this wonderful life I’m living. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-10233168167167184542020-06-14T17:32:00.000-07:002020-06-14T19:26:45.021-07:00Reflection and Renewal<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5mcXVi9lQk1MtSeCRMh6A7gG2nGtDqj6BFejek2Tg_EDuRIMrb1bk12HlNfcQhYASy7FWLLTmOVmyYVXCfBzgqB9rmhPNr6e7oXHAkaTsAUXwRrax_9pr_hL1dSCpD7qaGldaMKZW_HS/s1600/istockphoto-1212609456-170667a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="525" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5mcXVi9lQk1MtSeCRMh6A7gG2nGtDqj6BFejek2Tg_EDuRIMrb1bk12HlNfcQhYASy7FWLLTmOVmyYVXCfBzgqB9rmhPNr6e7oXHAkaTsAUXwRrax_9pr_hL1dSCpD7qaGldaMKZW_HS/s200/istockphoto-1212609456-170667a.jpg" width="200" /></a>Arrangements had been made for me to fly from Washington to Texas for my brother’s funeral. When the ticket was purchased, the term coronavirus had just begun floating around. As the time neared for my trip, I was concerned it might be canceled. Our world was infected. But all went as planned. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Upon my return home, I was soon made aware of the plight my state was in. Deaths were already occurring. That’s when I understood I could possibly be infected. I had no clue who I had been around that might have been contagious, so I put myself in quarantine for 14 days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_pkNKjRHWVqBqd94QjmkQXZeOsAVTwU6lD4-Jiqdk1G8EAnfE35Qgmdykj3qyT4yYcvG7eZp9UOGd0lmyUPs51k0nj-I8MNh7vDrXDqxiZYuQOvFiGedHisslm7BlmXv9C8D-HmI-Fck/s1600/ice-cream-2588541__340-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_pkNKjRHWVqBqd94QjmkQXZeOsAVTwU6lD4-Jiqdk1G8EAnfE35Qgmdykj3qyT4yYcvG7eZp9UOGd0lmyUPs51k0nj-I8MNh7vDrXDqxiZYuQOvFiGedHisslm7BlmXv9C8D-HmI-Fck/s200/ice-cream-2588541__340-2.jpg" width="200" /></a>After the intense time I had just experienced, a time of solitude did not seem unduly harsh. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Emails, texts and Facebook were full of people expressing their frustrations and sense of isolation. Others talked of how they were eating everything they could find. Tempers flared. Accusations raged. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet I felt none of that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I established a weight-loss goal. I filled my days with praise music, writing, reading and exercising. When I wanted a change in activity, I turned the music off and listened to podcasts while I worked a jigsaw puzzle. And I spent time on the patio meditating and journaling. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Regularly throughout the day, I paused to give God thanks for watching over me. I set an alarm on my iPhone to pray once a day for the President and our government, our leaders and country. I asked God to bring a revival…to cause the people of our United States to turn their hearts toward Him. When I laid my head on the pillow at bedtime, I fell asleep talking to God. <o:p></o:p></div>
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At the end of 14 days, I remained symptom free. And I had lost two pounds toward my weight-loss goal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_a_V_Z3QfAiYd_Dikybt4eEEGon-XB4KfHZOAIMD8e1LxQYlWkJXUACs5jtE1M0FEQbmmTT2nFu83Bz2dHS7YggueKVQA0cezjeUVqa0eS1NqPFfHAdy4g5e-vnvkgNRkyqNFW7hV5ZY/s1600/keyboard-114439__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="480" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_a_V_Z3QfAiYd_Dikybt4eEEGon-XB4KfHZOAIMD8e1LxQYlWkJXUACs5jtE1M0FEQbmmTT2nFu83Bz2dHS7YggueKVQA0cezjeUVqa0eS1NqPFfHAdy4g5e-vnvkgNRkyqNFW7hV5ZY/s200/keyboard-114439__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>By then we had been given the “stay at home” order. Some people were in a panic mode. Others just seemed to spew hate at the governing officials who were taking away their freedoms. I abided in peace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My time of renewal had just been expanded. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I lost another three pounds. I put the finishing touches on my third book and sent it to the publisher. I became familiar with the term “streaming.” My daughter, who lives three time zones away, and I attended church together. We took notes and discussed the sermon. I relished my quiet time. God and I talked a lot. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnyo7XLRIY9kpUN3Bo32DXnMlQz-jT3Z9D1NNaEVvSiaFooiqnJDZJO_f7o5AYg2NBnTaFSwaVQN_dZCK4Z1cuAvnKrTgO4iUx2-EXGlk4cOLIEf2tQ1gW6-I5qZ4v6Az3V098njyQh3c/s1600/aftermath-4506339__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="604" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnyo7XLRIY9kpUN3Bo32DXnMlQz-jT3Z9D1NNaEVvSiaFooiqnJDZJO_f7o5AYg2NBnTaFSwaVQN_dZCK4Z1cuAvnKrTgO4iUx2-EXGlk4cOLIEf2tQ1gW6-I5qZ4v6Az3V098njyQh3c/s200/aftermath-4506339__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>And then the perfect storm materialized with a knee on the neck of a black man. Virus and riots…deaths from Covid-19…deaths from shootings…lootings and vandalism. Businesses that were already shut because of the stay at home order were destroyed by those who weren’t staying at home, intent on revenge. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Our world exploded. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In the three weeks since then, I’ve watched the news in horror. Beautiful cities devastated. Out-of-control mobs attacking anyone and anything in their path. And due to Covid-19, elderly loved ones dying alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGtppDAnBPX25TY-V2m6T3B3AhykQYZ9fTOuPDu7OkvEIGDJbM3aio7zsvprw3EmC-uKQsCUyNVvM-X4bQEs5q-KgMJC_B_zwSCigA5dY7clNfHAHOm0IxYY_fIWxXqs8ft5LDz31Wz05/s1600/america-3005258__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="652" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGtppDAnBPX25TY-V2m6T3B3AhykQYZ9fTOuPDu7OkvEIGDJbM3aio7zsvprw3EmC-uKQsCUyNVvM-X4bQEs5q-KgMJC_B_zwSCigA5dY7clNfHAHOm0IxYY_fIWxXqs8ft5LDz31Wz05/s320/america-3005258__340.jpg" width="320" /></a>Our nation will never be the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In a time like this, I’m so grateful for my peace. If I allowed my focus to be on the turmoil whirling around me, I could become depressed and suicidal. But God is still in control. All of this havoc has not been a surprise to Him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He is still the Prince of Peace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My heart goes out to those who are suffering; perhaps the loss of a loved one or maybe just due to the isolation. But this season can be used as a time of growth for the Christ-follower. So many of the distractions and interferences have been removed. For me, because of the solitude, I have experienced a deeper level of peace. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We don’t know the end result of all the chaos. But we do know where the Shelter is as we ride out the storm. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“I would hurry to my place of Shelter, far from the tempest and storm.” Psalm 55:8 (NIV)</i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-36245275588992185502020-05-18T16:46:00.001-07:002020-05-18T16:46:57.006-07:00Pondering<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxI97jbIzJ-tOVNAVtQ35L_VOH3sY45sOda_8vIkf-hJjQXl3PGIyLseA3i3lq7mPLInL5-l2KzTQ9Km9gUKb9Xz8SdiJeyCbGYbQhz7pAPhALbqZrhVNjdIjbbS2kS0WsgHMMtjpPMrh/s1600/pensive-female-580611__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="425" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxI97jbIzJ-tOVNAVtQ35L_VOH3sY45sOda_8vIkf-hJjQXl3PGIyLseA3i3lq7mPLInL5-l2KzTQ9Km9gUKb9Xz8SdiJeyCbGYbQhz7pAPhALbqZrhVNjdIjbbS2kS0WsgHMMtjpPMrh/s200/pensive-female-580611__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>Recently, a very good friend told me I liked to use the word “ponder”. It’s true. I ponder (contemplate, deliberate, muse, think about, mull over, and meditate) a lot. At my age, there is a lot to ponder. <o:p></o:p></div>
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With the recent passing of my brother, I am the only remnant left of my birth family. Lots to mull over there. And last week the first of my 19 nieces and nephews departed this life, with another one under hospice care. My situation is a little different than most. I have two nieces and one nephew (the recent death) the same age as me. Most of them are grandparents and even great-grandparents. As near as I can figure, the youngest of them is in her 50’s. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4pIqI2ZPs46iN-tatyFRl3yvUNUQogGBSYBn5xpKYQwRJlTol0CiilLuikjjAl7ccUVq7xMMlosRQ424g8ra55qaSyUCPWIDi9ylaOSNMZXR_1mT2bha7u0GGy8CiGHfsTrObZuBiEVG1/s1600/list-2389219__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="340" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4pIqI2ZPs46iN-tatyFRl3yvUNUQogGBSYBn5xpKYQwRJlTol0CiilLuikjjAl7ccUVq7xMMlosRQ424g8ra55qaSyUCPWIDi9ylaOSNMZXR_1mT2bha7u0GGy8CiGHfsTrObZuBiEVG1/s200/list-2389219__340.png" width="200" /></a>I sat down and made a list. As I looked at the names, I became very aware of the fact that I really don’t know any of them very well. Some I have no idea where they live. Others my brother had kept me informed about. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Suffice it to say, we were not a close family. My two brothers were the exceptions. Their love for me supported and encouraged me through some pretty rough waters. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s where my pondering came in. What happened? Why? Once I married in 1960, I didn’t live in the same town with any of them. I do know that religion played a part in some of the separation. I definitely was a black sheep. In the 70’s, I actually cut my hair and began to wear slacks. Getting a divorce did not help. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I worked on becoming a person, not a robot, I had a strong desire for family to be different for my children. Over the years, we have established close, loving relationships. I am blessed to be their mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But I have discovered that not all family is related by blood. I have women friends who are far closer to me than my sisters were. One I call my “daughter from another mother”. I have men friends who would come at a moment’s notice if I needed help. They are my “village”. Before my husband passed, we talked about what life would be like for me when he was gone. He was secure in the knowledge that my children and my village would take care of me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My hope is that you have “family” surrounding you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-3630906605686111282020-04-25T15:04:00.000-07:002020-04-25T15:04:27.133-07:00Bucket List<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlH8VVc2HhGuJGGij634txPTGSINly4lSCDv8PP3X9E6XaakPH9pLXpXlhAwGR2X15jMkX4AGz-yWzjmZgKPN7FEqIoG0nYZgCyfddqkIKP_t1VVMb8XRlApiYdJ8Ily38NkOHxdbPJ5sS/s1600/memo-1767515__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="269" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlH8VVc2HhGuJGGij634txPTGSINly4lSCDv8PP3X9E6XaakPH9pLXpXlhAwGR2X15jMkX4AGz-yWzjmZgKPN7FEqIoG0nYZgCyfddqkIKP_t1VVMb8XRlApiYdJ8Ily38NkOHxdbPJ5sS/s200/memo-1767515__340.png" width="158" /></a>I’ve never really had a bucket list. My husband, John, had one, which I discovered after his death. We had covered it pretty well. With the anniversary next month of five years since his passing, and the recent death of my brother, I’ve been doing some pondering. At the age of 77, I do not feel old. But lately I’ve become aware that in earth years, I am. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, what would I put on a bucket list? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbqYKBu5iQ_U4KCnPEQH8nmZtIX3ewp8sUQKCpYIXsvJ2vFhwuHrJ-tnm0xL868VLah5GFDv4hRLtDhR-u_fDh74O10vqtA5b1lFpFlZWmA3o0WM8BoaQssz5Vx9GLPdcWTPpE6FN3Axa/s1600/mt-rushmore-2147740__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="453" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbqYKBu5iQ_U4KCnPEQH8nmZtIX3ewp8sUQKCpYIXsvJ2vFhwuHrJ-tnm0xL868VLah5GFDv4hRLtDhR-u_fDh74O10vqtA5b1lFpFlZWmA3o0WM8BoaQssz5Vx9GLPdcWTPpE6FN3Axa/s200/mt-rushmore-2147740__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>I would like to take a road trip that includes Crazy Horse, Mt. Rushmore and Devil’s Tower. John visited them on a motorcycle. We had discussed returning there with me…in a car. Didn’t happen. And since I would be in the area (relatively), I would like to swing by Yellowstone. My brother mentioned on more than one occasion his love for Crater Lake. As recently as November, he talked of it again. That would go on my list. I have some of his ashes to scatter there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Traveling to Israel had been a desire of mine for years. I just felt drawn to that area. Five months after John’s passing, I visited for the first time. Two years later I returned. In a conversation the other day with a daughter, I mentioned that the big 80 would be coming up for me in a little over two years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“How about I go to Israel for my 80<sup>th</sup>? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOQ3mGCTiLmbhXM2LMvTx3z8pU9ITXaeyFIZ85bq7n5HHazS6Q0ylG5TCagAZuVVrRKZNaJspiT7dQKbm8qf99RPNssxVvE2p0Wh1pr4f-gKMx_iQXU1jGRtYtbjvxoUF1-KoK-Mw8bj9/s1600/petra-4389242__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOQ3mGCTiLmbhXM2LMvTx3z8pU9ITXaeyFIZ85bq7n5HHazS6Q0ylG5TCagAZuVVrRKZNaJspiT7dQKbm8qf99RPNssxVvE2p0Wh1pr4f-gKMx_iQXU1jGRtYtbjvxoUF1-KoK-Mw8bj9/s200/petra-4389242__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>And now that thought is in my head. I’ve gone with two different tour groups, but would love to see some non-tourist sites. There are so many variables between now and then. Right now, Israel is on lockdown. That hurts my heart. There is always the issue of finances. And for “old” people; health. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have a feeling the longing to go to Israel will percolate for a while. Like maybe two and one-half years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieELO9z9jm0AiFlIR4wNc91hNk7ROWmwcqGJh4Fc1o0HoEe33cDxTBoVfZvnf5KwBNX6neO4WBYTua2DaVUermluaaoocwKtOXH_MyIJhtP9ZSL567Qdzh1mXXbvKl1BYiHfWXVNcc159a/s1600/heart-66888__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="566" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieELO9z9jm0AiFlIR4wNc91hNk7ROWmwcqGJh4Fc1o0HoEe33cDxTBoVfZvnf5KwBNX6neO4WBYTua2DaVUermluaaoocwKtOXH_MyIJhtP9ZSL567Qdzh1mXXbvKl1BYiHfWXVNcc159a/s200/heart-66888__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>But there is more to a “bucket list” than just travels. My physical health goes on there. I would like to live out my days in relatively good health. I do what I can to take care of me, but I know the results are beyond my control. My mental health is another area to ponder. Again, I do what I can to keep my mind in shape. People already tell me I’m crazy, so how will they know? <o:p></o:p></div>
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But most important is my spiritual health. My list includes a deep longing to know more about Christ every day. As time passes, I’m amazed at the depth of His love and peace available to me. As we currently experience a worldwide pandemic, my soul is at rest. But I will never be able to place a checkmark by that one. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I will always be a work in progress. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“Finally, brothers, rejoice. Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.” 2 Corinthians 13:11 (ESV)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-34425567562417627122020-03-27T10:15:00.000-07:002020-03-27T10:15:47.203-07:00Contamination<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHDfAkTRDLi9P3TwJedIefKMFNQ7frUESDrQsFhFozDNacx4jQcFPIIP3mNl2s_0yDAZOyTql4TlWOTw4c0Y9YU5ewXTQeUvNbWxwrScMGhXE2k2zT-l6SmJRqFSvodJ7Bhx9Odb0No3v/s1600/toys-3675934__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="604" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHDfAkTRDLi9P3TwJedIefKMFNQ7frUESDrQsFhFozDNacx4jQcFPIIP3mNl2s_0yDAZOyTql4TlWOTw4c0Y9YU5ewXTQeUvNbWxwrScMGhXE2k2zT-l6SmJRqFSvodJ7Bhx9Odb0No3v/s200/toys-3675934__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>Several years ago, my daughter operated a daycare in her home. It was a clean, organized center full of happy children. I helped out sometimes. One time, she had car trouble and borrowed mine. During that time, a child infected the center with pink eye. We knew how very contagious that was and immediately took steps to protect everyone. All was well until the day she called and said I could come pick up my car. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You guessed it. I contracted pink eye. From the car keys. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I thought of that story this morning as I was driving home from the post office. We are under a mandatory rule of social distancing and staying home. Only essential businesses are open…one of which is the post office. I timed it so I would arrive just as they opened. I thought it would be the least contaminated then. The doors were propped open, so I didn’t have to touch them. I was the only customer, so I placed my box on the counter. So far, so good. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The clerk wore gloves. I decided that was for her protection. Those gloves could still harbor a virus. The normal questions were asked of me. Since I was going to use a credit card, I had to push the answers of yes or no on the screen of the little credit card machine. I placed my credit card back in my purse. I had been the only one to touch it. A receipt was printed and handed to me by those gloved hands holding onto one little corner. So far, so good. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I climbed in my car thinking, “Well I don’t need to use the disinfectant wipe I have in my pocket. I didn’t have to touch anything.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Life is just like that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We can be so careful to not be contaminated by the obvious, big things. We don’t go to porn sites or spend a night in a motel with someone other than our spouse. At the end of the day, we can feel good about ourselves. Yay us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqih_qkqcyu0cCBgUIBcKTAX1pOvqA_tD1ooOEgeYLhZ4VlRA8AqkTiB933x_SlGIheM0F1CcPQmXsdQC5XfBqEzuzhnJ6VJi9iQ7RoUxzmuQSGWl2gj4a2V3AFF3cArz-oopJaWI6k8wJ/s1600/virus-1913183__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="1208" height="56" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqih_qkqcyu0cCBgUIBcKTAX1pOvqA_tD1ooOEgeYLhZ4VlRA8AqkTiB933x_SlGIheM0F1CcPQmXsdQC5XfBqEzuzhnJ6VJi9iQ7RoUxzmuQSGWl2gj4a2V3AFF3cArz-oopJaWI6k8wJ/s200/virus-1913183__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>But what about the little things? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Did we cheat on our Income Taxes? Lie to our spouse about that charge on the credit card? Gossip about the newcomer at work? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just as that germ on the car keys traveled to my eyes, the contamination in our lives can start with the little things. Sometimes we aren’t even aware of them, they are so normal for us. But they can contaminate our lives. That virus can grow to other, larger indiscretions, contaminating even more of our life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As a Christ-follower, my prayer is that God makes me aware of the little things in my life that could turn into big things. I certainly don’t want to contaminate anyone else. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“Forget about deciding what’s right for each other. Here’s what you need to be concerned about: that you don’t get in the way of someone else.” Romans 14:13 (MSG)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-20801179813475418472020-03-09T11:32:00.000-07:002020-03-09T11:32:11.882-07:00Pianos and Tuning Forks<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kNg6BVJ84ky3dIddfaialR6a7bWJHjl_h_KeclRyKVnf3ETKOjXS_db19fSiEmtRBPCQG2zjjHMVfUSjbk_9zt35FeiLHvcneOdIu74fPq2GXMd9P6A_RP3gUUj92lZbbiQ1y9c2sb77/s1600/piano-362251__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="632" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kNg6BVJ84ky3dIddfaialR6a7bWJHjl_h_KeclRyKVnf3ETKOjXS_db19fSiEmtRBPCQG2zjjHMVfUSjbk_9zt35FeiLHvcneOdIu74fPq2GXMd9P6A_RP3gUUj92lZbbiQ1y9c2sb77/s200/piano-362251__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>Picture this: a room full of pianos that have just been delivered to the music store. Since they have been in transit from the manufacturer, they all need to be tuned. The piano tuner arrives, removes his tuning fork from his receptacle and begins the process with the first piano. What would happen if he tuned the second piano to the first one, the third one to the second one, and on around the room? When he reached the last piano, would it be in tune with the first one? <o:p></o:p></div>
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BIG fat no. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And just where am I going with this? <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m thinking of churches. I’ve been in many in my lifetime. Most, it seems, have various tuning forks and methods. One person gets in tune with another…and on around the church. Many times, the music emanating from that church is in discord. And the world notices. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What would happen if each person individually used the same Tuning Fork? It’s not a novel idea. The Bible is very clear about where we are to turn for our tuning. But it’s easy to become lax in our desire for proper tuning. Sometimes days (maybe weeks) go by without turning to the Tuning Fork. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My desire is to stay in tune. What about you? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“When we worship the right way, God doesn’t stir us up into confusion; He brings us into harmony. This goes for all the churches – no exceptions.” 1 Corinthians 14:33 (MSG)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-53316723579743726072020-02-20T12:06:00.000-08:002020-02-20T12:06:29.972-08:00Relinquishment Isn't Easy<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
My beginning was less than auspicious. I was my mother’s ninth child; she was 45 years old and my father died within hours of my birth. My brother, Tony, tells me I was placed in a dresser drawer for use as a bed. He was seven when I showed up. He couldn’t understand where his dad had gone and where I came from. <o:p></o:p></div>
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From that day on, he became my best friend and protector. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7sBX8tVUPvzi5fJsbpDPJicCvCEKWb66JRZ8N8Az8BZeYxaQo2ZARazQaGG3M-QI5ncrdV0zYMZNqfOhwUmCAQLI7L1R9EnwkgyH-UENKBaxZwwriB-8UghjFkjKJbd7Vs-S2S-An-I1/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7sBX8tVUPvzi5fJsbpDPJicCvCEKWb66JRZ8N8Az8BZeYxaQo2ZARazQaGG3M-QI5ncrdV0zYMZNqfOhwUmCAQLI7L1R9EnwkgyH-UENKBaxZwwriB-8UghjFkjKJbd7Vs-S2S-An-I1/s200/Unknown.jpeg" width="200" /></a>Soon my mother, Tony and I moved to two rooms upstairs in a house. That is where I grew up. He took care of me; walked me to school when I started Junior High that was halfway across town. When I was told to marry while still in high school, he was the one who escorted me down the aisle. Through my subsequent divorce and many years of single parenting, he was always there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And now he is being supported by an air mattress (because of bedsores) in a room in a hospice house many miles away. And I grieve. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKD6HJmfN_ePkLbC61Ly9O7Av9gtKFhm5C3hCbffHsPQUM-Zyj4dWy08PvoHBIuLeqc-2anBxsHqnixZtlQ5L2CzquMGdQu5p_FzFS12ubEWkzRAHLAeogD1arnsaS_gYAz1HTNGz8cjOb/s1600/brain-4381325__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKD6HJmfN_ePkLbC61Ly9O7Av9gtKFhm5C3hCbffHsPQUM-Zyj4dWy08PvoHBIuLeqc-2anBxsHqnixZtlQ5L2CzquMGdQu5p_FzFS12ubEWkzRAHLAeogD1arnsaS_gYAz1HTNGz8cjOb/s200/brain-4381325__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>But there is more than that. I’ve read about the connection twins have; even though they are a great distance apart. Tony and I have that. For 70 years we have been linked. He would call and ask, “So what’s going on?” And I would tell him. Sometimes it was the other way around. We could share the scene we saw in our mind. It was always accurate. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In his weakened state, talking on the phone is no longer an option. But we are still linked. Some days are better than others. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When my daughter, Lorri, and I visited him in a nursing home in November, he spoke of many things. I heard stories about our dad. We re-lived many memories we had shared. I watched him come alive as he listened to music. His life-long career was spent as a musician, beginning as soloist in the Navy Band. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93UMKCvIRLQEVQzidXuhCuuLxE0Gq6f1BRZCEX3MosP__G3SJhJShYnpDygG0LpGKRphnh8C0NMO4smkdmfQ9w2vlW5lrY5rALDBjyyrvw8c9frm-bOA2ITxJ3ej-3PEw3jZAez6bd6mo/s1600/vintage-car-852239__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93UMKCvIRLQEVQzidXuhCuuLxE0Gq6f1BRZCEX3MosP__G3SJhJShYnpDygG0LpGKRphnh8C0NMO4smkdmfQ9w2vlW5lrY5rALDBjyyrvw8c9frm-bOA2ITxJ3ej-3PEw3jZAez6bd6mo/s200/vintage-car-852239__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>We talked about this day…when the end was approaching. And now it’s here. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I wasn’t allowed to drive the first 25 years of my life. He taught me to love it! When we were there, he mentioned several times he just needed a steering wheel in his hands. He also expressed a desire to eat a hamburger. He knew there was a hamburger place just down the street. Yet when we offered to get him one, he knew he would be unable to eat it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am a calm, peaceful woman. I would never describe me as restless. Yet last Saturday I felt like pacing the floor…couldn’t watch tv, read, or even listen to music. I finally received the message. I climbed in the car and for the next hour drove and talked to him. When I returned home, the restlessness had ceased. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Go ahead. Think I’m weird. I’m just telling it like it is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Letting go is difficult. Yet I don’t pray for him to linger. Since the death of my husband, John, I view dying differently than most people. As I sat by John, we talked of heaven. As a Christian, he was ready. So is Tony. It will be a wonderful transition for him. <o:p></o:p><br />
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And so, I wait…and let go.</div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-40475477248763467392020-02-14T12:00:00.000-08:002020-02-14T12:00:24.788-08:00A Forever Love<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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Five years ago, Valentine’s Day was not mentioned. He was living his last days in our bedroom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then came the day I removed his wedding ring from his finger, traveled to the jewelry store and purchased a strong necklace that would hold both our wedding rings. I’ve worn that chain around my neck until today. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zfjBM_VSIB_qF12PEA6CKgXEUwxUlXEwK-cCo8OffIo6y6eFgUjg26DANENxxi5aiY3F5SHE4fELkrpbnE0wkkWikDI1kwdNsbaBu-MZYlyYy0eVnct4LVTNQbj5ScwYmJSk6xekrbiZ/s1600/IMG_9047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zfjBM_VSIB_qF12PEA6CKgXEUwxUlXEwK-cCo8OffIo6y6eFgUjg26DANENxxi5aiY3F5SHE4fELkrpbnE0wkkWikDI1kwdNsbaBu-MZYlyYy0eVnct4LVTNQbj5ScwYmJSk6xekrbiZ/s200/IMG_9047.jpg" width="150" /></a>I find it ironic that I have decided today to no longer wear it. It’s not a decision I take lightly. But it seems unavoidable. You see, a few weeks ago I purchased a device that hangs around my neck and will call for help if I push the button. It also registers if I fall and will notify someone I have selected. It came with an explanation that placing it in my pocket or purse would not work. And since I put it around my neck, the rings and device clack and rattle against each other as I move. I’ve even been wearing two shirts so I could tuck one inside the inner shirt to avoid the noise. I can’t do that when it warms up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Hence, the decision. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shortly after his death, I had a ring etched with the words, “Always and Forever” and wear it continuously. That publicly declares my ongoing love. I am so grateful for the wonderful years of love we shared. We literally became one. I truly don’t need the reminder around my neck. </div>
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He is always and forever in my heart. </div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-25109506457674097992020-02-03T13:07:00.000-08:002020-02-03T13:07:03.499-08:00Acknowledgement of God's Creations<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJbA75Di95dsmf68sUmuA2PafM_I_K0An1QucpTtUVyK21EpQuwbdYvO4XXG4W0lSdWv-Y0V6x3EZdGQi3oD9MpilnYk4m9L4VKaeqMw8zFlCcwDpI36u7CEPRPJoaLxjkIKM00ne9s0E/s1600/mountain-river-1368723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="199" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJbA75Di95dsmf68sUmuA2PafM_I_K0An1QucpTtUVyK21EpQuwbdYvO4XXG4W0lSdWv-Y0V6x3EZdGQi3oD9MpilnYk4m9L4VKaeqMw8zFlCcwDpI36u7CEPRPJoaLxjkIKM00ne9s0E/s200/mountain-river-1368723.jpg" width="149" /></a>John and I visited Spokane on a regular basis. As you come into the city from the west, there is a view of the city below and the mountains in the distance. We always remarked how beautiful it was. But in a conversation with one of the residents of that city, we discovered they really never paid any attention to the beauty around them. Their nose was to the proverbial grindstone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, that became a question we asked often when we visited other beautiful places. And I’m sorry to say, most people don’t notice God’s creation. It’s just a familiar part of their drive to work, with their mind elsewhere. <o:p></o:p></div>
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How sad. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRo_h4NmV-lJ_ySWBaKoFLjGQQtiUjPrllvCvD_ZpEJXoQ21eBGpzd3b7mtwbM1HBZbsbrlW-z2adCou0fJvrgKNszszOiQ70C6l_QE3RNbNGRrgU8n1m10e_RgPlPuVySdB3o0h7RwD2y/s1600/cornfield-1651379__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="435" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRo_h4NmV-lJ_ySWBaKoFLjGQQtiUjPrllvCvD_ZpEJXoQ21eBGpzd3b7mtwbM1HBZbsbrlW-z2adCou0fJvrgKNszszOiQ70C6l_QE3RNbNGRrgU8n1m10e_RgPlPuVySdB3o0h7RwD2y/s200/cornfield-1651379__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>Here’s where I probably will offend some people. I grew up in Kansas. Not beautiful. I remember clearly the first time I saw mountains. I wondered why anyone would choose to live in Kansas. I now understand it’s not always a choice. You see, when we moved to the TriCities, I kept saying “no” to the move because I thought it was ugly. Yet I have lived here 33 years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And, yes, there is a point to all of this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m reading a fascinating book entitled “Ghost Boy” by Martin Pistorius. Until the age of 12 he was a normal boy. And then his body shut down…everything except his mind. I can’t even begin to imagine. Years later, with modern technology, he is able to let us know what that was like. As I read this morning, his words triggered this blog. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfREkSWbBfPFZesmkdw6yiwKxbxOa9BFQVf01iS6sJ2D1b3vMWNstIUqI5RtwSDXqIk0K3qzWUlOLh2mdmA4bwdLbn6pl29aVykUtd8DCOmvOAGkeYtbJ_d9pSY9N2fRZ6lyt5z_ZuVc8/s1600/wheelchair-1595794__340-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfREkSWbBfPFZesmkdw6yiwKxbxOa9BFQVf01iS6sJ2D1b3vMWNstIUqI5RtwSDXqIk0K3qzWUlOLh2mdmA4bwdLbn6pl29aVykUtd8DCOmvOAGkeYtbJ_d9pSY9N2fRZ6lyt5z_ZuVc8/s200/wheelchair-1595794__340-2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Can we get so used to being able to walk, talk, see, etc. that we stop noticing? When we drive our car or ski down a mountain, are we aware of the wonderful gift we’ve been given? Or do we just accept it as a given? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just one more point. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvd63y8bZZTlFyMpma_6AsIHHlsU95ZRavrLVZNq23jYXI4-328PhpyljGg9Q73y4pHs3Q75FHCNfCjAdSmzrL6LP-Gv6X1Wwk3cAC2Gpfp5axibT6JWEEk8mB1PvivV8ACry6DzhtpS7/s1600/mind-544404__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="440" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvd63y8bZZTlFyMpma_6AsIHHlsU95ZRavrLVZNq23jYXI4-328PhpyljGg9Q73y4pHs3Q75FHCNfCjAdSmzrL6LP-Gv6X1Wwk3cAC2Gpfp5axibT6JWEEk8mB1PvivV8ACry6DzhtpS7/s200/mind-544404__340.png" width="200" /></a>Those people strapped in a wheelchair or lying in a bed just may be able to hear…to see…what you say and do. Does our attitude about them show? Do we find them distasteful? Do we go out of our way to ignore them? Physical limitations do not necessarily define them. Just what if their mind is alive in there? <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not talking about sympathy. I’m talking about acceptance. In my life right now, I’m not having to address this. But I have had to in the past. I pray my attitude with those I dealt with was one of acknowledgment of their personhood.<br />
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<i>“Your eyes have seen my unformed substance: and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them. Psalm 139:16 (NASB)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-80294430501688229892020-01-20T16:32:00.000-08:002020-01-20T16:32:46.612-08:00The Art of Losing Weight<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Quite the title. Does that make me the expert? No. I can only talk to what works for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I grew up being told to clean my plate to save all those starving children in China. By sixth grade I weighed 140 pounds. Early marriage…three children…still cleaning my plate and telling them to. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then I faced nine years being single. That’s when I went through two years of discarding everything I had been taught and picking for myself what I chose to believe. I decided I wasn’t responsible for those starving children. My decision affected my children because I stopped eating at night. I would come home from work, change my clothes and go for a seven-mile walk. It was their job to cook, eat and clean up before I got home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Over two years I lost 100 pounds. I stopped eating fried foods, using salt and cut back on caffeine. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Life happened. I re-married. He wanted me to eat dinner with him. It caused such strain in our marriage, we went to counseling. The skinny counselor said, “So you are so stubborn you won’t sit down and eat dinner with your husband?” I said, “I will gladly sit down while he eats.” Counselor: “You can just eat a salad or something.” Me: “Would you tell an alcoholic to take just one drink?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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It didn’t go well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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After 20 pounds of weight gain, I told my husband, “I am not willing to gain weight for you.” We worked it out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the last few years, my weight has crept up by 40 pounds. My focus was elsewhere, such as my husband’s cancer and then his death. Choosing to eat correctly was at the bottom of the list. But now I’m back and making better choices. I’m 20 pounds down to my 40-pound weight loss goal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here is my plan that works for me. Eat less. Simple but not easy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was dating my husband, he would take me out to eat. I always left a little of everything on my plate. One day he called me on it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“There are reasons for that. I had to get past the fact I was wasting money. My health has to be more important. If I leave a little of each thing, then I can’t ask for seconds. And when I leave the restaurant, I don’t feel stuffed.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are other ways I work around weight loss. I rarely go to a potluck or buffet. I’m a foodaholic. Can’t take that first bite. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For 40 years, I’ve tried to not eat after 4:00 pm. I find it ironic that now that seems to be the latest weight loss craze. I try to consume food between 8:00 am and 4:00 pm. A side effect of that choice is a very restful sleep. My body is not working on digesting food. I lay down, sleep and get up. (Just another little tidbit for those who want to sleep through the night. I don’t partake of liquids after 6:00 pm.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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I really don’t care for rice or pasta. But I do like bread and potatoes. If I deprive myself of them, then my desire for them increases to the point that I overindulge. So, I work bread and potatoes into my meals each week. Each day I write down what I have consumed, when I consume it. That way I can see at a glance if I need protein or maybe some fruit. Helps keep me on track. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Friday is my day to eat what I want without guilt. I’ve used this trick for years. If I’m wanting a cookie (or two or three) on Tuesday, I tell myself I can have them on Friday. If I feel I’m depriving me, I rebound and eat everything in sight. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I really don’t believe in weight-loss programs. They provide the packaged food; you eat what they say, and you lose the weight. Then you are on your own, cooking and eating what you buy or fix. You have not been taught how to eat correctly. You are right back where you were before you spent all that money. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I avoid anything with the word “diet” on it. My consumption of diet food and drink did not result in weight loss. It had the opposite effect. I came to the conclusion that the “diet” chemical caused cravings. Like I say, I’m not the expert. That’s what happened for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Exercise is also a part of the plan. But I don’t believe you have to expend a lot of money or time to keep healthy. I am a member of a gym and have been for years. At first it was very intimidating to be in there with the studs and models. But I’m going there for my health, so have learned to ignore them. I spent some time with a trainer, and he gave me exercises I can do at home. So mostly I walk on the treadmill…five days a week. And for me, I do it first thing in the day. If I say I’ll do it later, it never happens. <o:p></o:p></div>
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All I can say is just be aware of what you are doing to sabotage your weight loss. It may be so subtle you’ve never realized it. And expect those friends who help with the sabotage…who offer you cake or donuts. How badly do you want to lose weight? You may have to offend someone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As people have begun to notice my recent weight loss, they ask “What are you doing to lose weight?” My reply is usually, “Eating less”. But that’s not truly helpful. So, I’ve tried to express some beneficial thoughts in this blog. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even if you only change one thing at a time, over the long haul you will see results. I believe the slower you take it off, the more likely you are to succeed. The outcome is worth it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-73534529930492709302020-01-14T10:35:00.000-08:002020-01-14T10:35:40.434-08:00My Sojourning Years<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikH9KS194OGSesVLwF-iye-nXi8cuejDIuHjgi2fWVgbj56nKagjo5FmEKH6dVOF2nfs_AFxgVLMTHe-xrTRSYwServG2x49m-eZWncSGyGyCnP6HrIzMGprtZVufpjTSFa9xCR9x4ZbJz/s1600/IMG_0261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikH9KS194OGSesVLwF-iye-nXi8cuejDIuHjgi2fWVgbj56nKagjo5FmEKH6dVOF2nfs_AFxgVLMTHe-xrTRSYwServG2x49m-eZWncSGyGyCnP6HrIzMGprtZVufpjTSFa9xCR9x4ZbJz/s200/IMG_0261.jpg" width="150" /></a>It happened again. Another birthday. And at my age, most of my life is behind me. That makes me pause and think. Am I fulfilling the purpose God designed me for? What do I need to change? Is there a new direction I’m supposed to go? Exactly what more do I desire to accomplish in my remaining years? <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I read the Bible this morning, the words in Genesis jumped out at me. Jacob was talking about his life. He called them his “sojourning” years. The definition of sojourning is <i>temporary stay.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_CDeXqKVXc-3uqlGNumyxouPz_Ly5ORo-tZgu3KekM7Td2ll6N7C3tbA4yn63Uoi8ezso9w_iQjxLQiU8G93hnpNqWunr5SZmunkfb_H5VHjwpHlqZ6Mx7u6U9zB1KZRb4_pNyfwtzG5/s1600/IMG_0405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_CDeXqKVXc-3uqlGNumyxouPz_Ly5ORo-tZgu3KekM7Td2ll6N7C3tbA4yn63Uoi8ezso9w_iQjxLQiU8G93hnpNqWunr5SZmunkfb_H5VHjwpHlqZ6Mx7u6U9zB1KZRb4_pNyfwtzG5/s200/IMG_0405.jpg" width="150" /></a>Any way I look at it, my temporary stay is being used up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I go on a vacation (such as my recent trip to California), a lot of the week is planned ahead. We had an idea what we planned to do on Wednesday (watch the Rose Parade up close and personal). Other plans were made. Most of them came to pass. Some got changed. And as the week transpired, we realized we were running out of time for certain activities. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Life is just like that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, as we begin the year 2020, I think we all need to take a hiatus and ponder our temporary stay. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><sup>“ </sup></i><i><span style="background-color: white;">And Jacob said to Pharaoh, “The days of the years of my sojourning are 130 years.” Genesis 47:9 (ESV)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-80158383573898491672019-12-15T18:33:00.000-08:002019-12-15T18:33:43.357-08:00Christmas Day is Not the Hardest<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6aH2-nR-pV7vWVFuUAjFMYyv_InqO1Na_Piq16fr-8kHbXct2tYJG6FOK6obois8Rsa8ajr4NHO_Ai4ETzGn6C5mnKS0JIP27G-0MDlmfkaVgSa9f_bKfFJbcjJdM7bHedPJGhnzZocf/s1600/IMG_0298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW6aH2-nR-pV7vWVFuUAjFMYyv_InqO1Na_Piq16fr-8kHbXct2tYJG6FOK6obois8Rsa8ajr4NHO_Ai4ETzGn6C5mnKS0JIP27G-0MDlmfkaVgSa9f_bKfFJbcjJdM7bHedPJGhnzZocf/s200/IMG_0298.jpg" width="200" /></a>It wasn’t that I didn’t desire to decorate for Christmas. The meaning of Christmas is very dear to me. And over the years I’ve been collecting nativities, even buying one in Bethlehem. Yes, the one in Israel. So, I really wanted to be able to see my special decorations. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But it meant I would have to deal with memories. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4POtVle8ZECEEg4THzCB_nukbPi1-_XjA2Ol-yfw1r7dzQYOcfz1Y8fkQq_mO1Z_9gEV-724-Gho_SxGpguirooD8OyTrFvK92aWKaslU2KFl_txA-ae7ji8fEphFLfKIYJM5LWS2lPhU/s1600/IMG_1243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="478" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4POtVle8ZECEEg4THzCB_nukbPi1-_XjA2Ol-yfw1r7dzQYOcfz1Y8fkQq_mO1Z_9gEV-724-Gho_SxGpguirooD8OyTrFvK92aWKaslU2KFl_txA-ae7ji8fEphFLfKIYJM5LWS2lPhU/s200/IMG_1243.JPG" width="149" /></a>This is my fifth Christmas without John. And most of the time I’m doing very well. We never decorated a tree together; that was my thing. And in the past ten years we’ve only put up one tree; our first year in this new home. John declared he wanted it to look like a picture in Better Homes and Gardens. He bought the tree, the decorations, the lights…and did it all himself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We had our Better Homes and Gardens tree. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He finally chose one. And now I have to put it up. It’s the wreath that gets me every year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsz50l0ulziNKnXx87wVJaZpO3K5827Dc65tONIiIG9BqY_cO2ZR5SgNpck-0TafmR7sNvzfJBMSMmetcgLTE40eulbF56GyctHNMAoqVkauoBM5D3CXDROqFEusT6FdW3ob_7V0XHJHJN/s1600/IMG_0276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsz50l0ulziNKnXx87wVJaZpO3K5827Dc65tONIiIG9BqY_cO2ZR5SgNpck-0TafmR7sNvzfJBMSMmetcgLTE40eulbF56GyctHNMAoqVkauoBM5D3CXDROqFEusT6FdW3ob_7V0XHJHJN/s200/IMG_0276.jpg" width="150" /></a>Christmas Day is not the hardest day. After the children became adults, the hustle and bustle of gifts and secrets and Christmas cookies and handmade ornaments faded into memories. Wonderful memories. When it was just John and me, that day was very low key. Just quiet time together. Some Christmas music. Some Christmas movies (although he slept through them). Several years our daughter, Lorri, joined us. She was okay with low key. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe for others who have lost a spouse and now live alone, Christmas Day is the hardest. Everyone deals with grief differently. As for me, my hardest day is over. I can now enjoy my handiwork; and look forward to this Christmas season. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is the Messiah, the Lord.” Luke 2:10-11 (NIV)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-13389626510429971152019-11-24T16:06:00.000-08:002019-11-24T16:06:09.707-08:00Sound of Stones Dropping<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqcPtK1iPAvvH5p_O9VGLL4o0jSGlwblwxZxENz97GgaZMxaCCWV9qe72acGqytIVNXlpyZTDgE6_A53YWyJ-QnCmuSwqrRlrSRKTQV84WqTDy2IdlVeiNGqKtz9QnwmT9ZwlhEwUof2a7/s1600/rubble-4283456__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="340" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqcPtK1iPAvvH5p_O9VGLL4o0jSGlwblwxZxENz97GgaZMxaCCWV9qe72acGqytIVNXlpyZTDgE6_A53YWyJ-QnCmuSwqrRlrSRKTQV84WqTDy2IdlVeiNGqKtz9QnwmT9ZwlhEwUof2a7/s200/rubble-4283456__340.png" width="200" /></a>The whole incident was a set up. She had been caught, no trapped, in the very act of adultery. In bringing only her to Jesus, the Jewish leaders were breaking the law. Where was the man she had been caught with? He should be stoned too. Perhaps it had been one of them. How else would they have known the exact time and place of the act? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Each of the accusers carried a stone in his hand. They were ready for the punishment to be meted out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jesus didn’t believe in adultery. They were counting on that. Wonder what they thought when he stooped down and used His finger to write something in the dirt. What did He write? The name of the guilty man? A list of the accuser’s sins? <o:p></o:p></div>
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They badgered Him until He stood up and agreed, “Ok, go ahead and stone her. But to qualify to throw that stone, you must be sinless.” Then He bent down and began to write some more. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thud.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thud, thud.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you have a stone in your hand? Have you caught someone in the act of doing something you consider wrong? Are you ready to mete out the punishment? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Are you sinless? Am I? I think not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Before we throw that stone, we need to take a review of our own lives. The next sound we hear will be the stone falling from our hands to the ground. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” John 8:3-5 (NIV)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-17448994152352525512019-11-09T09:52:00.000-08:002019-11-09T09:52:35.992-08:00Automatic Door<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScjT1o7HovcZLje2Mgz9Gwqq8lsX9bqk-k-_I49dMMTy3O-c7o8q-X5bLTZYx2eHiQTNBZcPYDLbJVrMCrKRwX9GhdCvbfF8-q184mEcIrCkHm-lvNdfTBfvxt5_ZYUDojSTx_7sVyBVA/s1600/business-3163051__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="510" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhScjT1o7HovcZLje2Mgz9Gwqq8lsX9bqk-k-_I49dMMTy3O-c7o8q-X5bLTZYx2eHiQTNBZcPYDLbJVrMCrKRwX9GhdCvbfF8-q184mEcIrCkHm-lvNdfTBfvxt5_ZYUDojSTx_7sVyBVA/s200/business-3163051__340.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">As I walked toward the doors of the grocery store, a lady stepped in front of me and headed the same way. I watched as she strode past three double doors that said “pull” and went to the one that was automatic. I was puzzled. Lazy? Bad arms? I pulled on the first door and entered. We arrived at the grocery carts about the same time, so I intersected with her several times throughout the store. She reached across items, reached high on shelves; she didn’t seem to have arm problems. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">I pondered. Recently, I had done some research on the church culture today. I saw a parallel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It takes effort to pull on a door and open it. There is no effort involved in walking through an automatic door. More and more churches offer the automatic door. It seems folks just want to sit in a building on Sunday morning, be told how good they are doing; and to have a wonderful week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">No effort involved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cLL62wGMxyxiC0Jw8UQY7GKp3Mmv2QwLLBrSQA4fIJYWlF12E_Zs9jtR23l9PGZD1Hi8m0TC_7kgzTi8AeIN2oCetPQV4zXkMuGB_4LjbQ40XwUOyqMhExkZhYHWTA1HB6sYgJmYBRRs/s1600/board-413157__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="480" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cLL62wGMxyxiC0Jw8UQY7GKp3Mmv2QwLLBrSQA4fIJYWlF12E_Zs9jtR23l9PGZD1Hi8m0TC_7kgzTi8AeIN2oCetPQV4zXkMuGB_4LjbQ40XwUOyqMhExkZhYHWTA1HB6sYgJmYBRRs/s200/board-413157__340.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">But there are still a few churches that think living as Christ taught takes some time and effort on our part; that we need to use our spiritual muscles to stay healthy. On Sunday morning they offer guidance from the Bible to help us. I recently heard a very well-known preacher say, “It is very hard to go to hell. God is love. Just be a good person. Heaven awaits.” He’s preaching an automatic door religion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"> Which door do you choose? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">“Don’t look for shortcuts to God. The market is flooded with surefire, easygoing formulas for a successful life that can be practiced in your spare time. Don’t fall for that stuff, even though crowds of people do. The way to life – to God – is vigorous and requires total attention.” Matthew 7:13-14 (MSG)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-61442836787074241022019-10-19T13:24:00.000-07:002019-10-19T13:24:26.513-07:00S H I E L D<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-0sHAu5nofU81AF8w3x9oGyaR1c6b2xOaN-_JX97p_oCyX-VLmZpck_M9Vpg60pEvVPtjp89yiAYMy4isoo3dD0rZ_hmmankd4Cf4vmeVVKjqyz9LMjllFBvIfpUdZJJ-cBs1qXC5kRxl/s1600/dementia-3051832__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="651" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-0sHAu5nofU81AF8w3x9oGyaR1c6b2xOaN-_JX97p_oCyX-VLmZpck_M9Vpg60pEvVPtjp89yiAYMy4isoo3dD0rZ_hmmankd4Cf4vmeVVKjqyz9LMjllFBvIfpUdZJJ-cBs1qXC5kRxl/s320/dementia-3051832__340.jpg" width="320" /></a>Since Dementia has recently affected my family, I’ve become very aware of articles pertaining to that particular ailment and ways to help fend it off. One report caught my attention due to its succinct approach to dealing with that risk. An acronym has been developed to help us remember the lifestyle factors we need to be aware of. <o:p></o:p></div>
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S H I E L D<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sleep: developing good sleep habits<o:p></o:p></div>
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Handle stress: learning how to deal with stress<o:p></o:p></div>
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Interact: spending time with friends and family<o:p></o:p></div>
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Exercise: undertaking some form of daily exercise<o:p></o:p></div>
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Learn: work on learning a new skill<o:p></o:p></div>
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Diet: eating a healthy diet<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is excellent advice for everyone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But as I thought about that shield to help protect my health, my contemplations turned to a scripture that mentions a shield. It has to do with our spiritual health. The Bible is just as succinct with its instruction. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.” Ephesians 6:14-16 (NIV)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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This is also excellent advice for everyone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-10998710862043723822019-10-03T12:38:00.000-07:002019-10-03T12:38:12.559-07:00It Was a Boa<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAnK14ERrBGMRSKudSHI8qba5Fwxg0A_ATfFRFxO5QnGDkKchaO5BC9zIFV8nvfBRhrBpz8RZjsg6hnoh3QN8kChtGaAPc6ad8eSMy9V2Zmsooi50M_AzzF2_rNZr1_mZeZrokMdPiMVy/s1600/emperor-snake-506321__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="708" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAnK14ERrBGMRSKudSHI8qba5Fwxg0A_ATfFRFxO5QnGDkKchaO5BC9zIFV8nvfBRhrBpz8RZjsg6hnoh3QN8kChtGaAPc6ad8eSMy9V2Zmsooi50M_AzzF2_rNZr1_mZeZrokMdPiMVy/s320/emperor-snake-506321__340.jpg" width="320" /></a>I stood in line at Starbucks in the Barnes and Noble store. Ahead of me were two more people and then a woman with a very strange scarf around her neck. The design had a print that looked like a Boa. I was trying to analyze how that matched her clothing when it moved. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a Boa. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was no longer standing in line. I removed myself a safe distance away and bravely looked at her again. The snake was around her neck, her waist and around one leg. It kept moving. A lady came to stand beside me and said, “That’s why I got out of line. Why do they let her stay in here?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I had no answer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That Barnes and Noble is attached to a mall. After she received her drink, that’s where she headed. I could only imagine the double takes she received. Maybe that was what she was after. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VnbTlmLUeKlsXaPlDNs5C2F4cJ9hHSqcG_ygrlyGY3nC1O8gBF_a6ae4mI8EuKQAbA_xm4uTFq0U-pEYBY_djp-gITwIl7i9ScJ6GWdYNJE5dTPogRAZXxa0EkdISzf0QtYUgF2UOu34/s1600/living-room-1872192__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="604" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VnbTlmLUeKlsXaPlDNs5C2F4cJ9hHSqcG_ygrlyGY3nC1O8gBF_a6ae4mI8EuKQAbA_xm4uTFq0U-pEYBY_djp-gITwIl7i9ScJ6GWdYNJE5dTPogRAZXxa0EkdISzf0QtYUgF2UOu34/s320/living-room-1872192__340.jpg" width="320" /></a>Later that evening, I was watching a television program that had been enjoyable during the previous season. As the program progressed, my mind kept returning to the Boa. This show had looked okay to me before. But I began to get a feeling that just maybe it was not an okay program to watch. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The Boa was moving. I needed to back off. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The program had been recorded, so I pushed pause. I pondered the premise of the show, the focus, the goal it had in mind. Just as I had realized the Boa around that lady’s neck was real, I suddenly faced the realization that I was watching a snake in my TV room. As a Christ-follower, I could not continue to watch. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I deleted the show. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As our world gets crazier and more immoral, I believe it is going to require us to become more aware of the insidious techniques of evil that have invaded our culture. It may look innocent enough, but perhaps the hidden agenda contains a scheme to do harm to our moral fiber. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s up to us to remain vigilant. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flows the springs of life.” Proverbs 4:23 (ESV)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTwjgtV2qg9fXjKX2TBsPKFLt1wxJ6AvrOEr8qdiYj30_IjgHvh6R4RP4gKgRmwnjAxNsJe208l7Vos0BjZI8mSZJCn3KpuPMyK3garvyUGa-0DJheEK3DpWdXEG82DfwlP9CCvS39UXu/s1600/Siggy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="56" data-original-width="73" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHTwjgtV2qg9fXjKX2TBsPKFLt1wxJ6AvrOEr8qdiYj30_IjgHvh6R4RP4gKgRmwnjAxNsJe208l7Vos0BjZI8mSZJCn3KpuPMyK3garvyUGa-0DJheEK3DpWdXEG82DfwlP9CCvS39UXu/s1600/Siggy.png" /></a></div>
Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-49257240678984706642019-09-13T15:05:00.000-07:002019-09-13T15:05:16.567-07:00Rest and Reflect<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJXsl4TjhjASoSwvKKwM1ahtvNPAPcCCAJHaNXmFWMi8mbWLS4haMah53_Y3ZysCBIkMi2exZfxfPaX7U9BOcSIsgXT1fgna5rhI2kgchifeFm47wWJDEgt56A6zuTMINL85ZLZs9RKoE/s1600/speaker-1596210__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="226" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJXsl4TjhjASoSwvKKwM1ahtvNPAPcCCAJHaNXmFWMi8mbWLS4haMah53_Y3ZysCBIkMi2exZfxfPaX7U9BOcSIsgXT1fgna5rhI2kgchifeFm47wWJDEgt56A6zuTMINL85ZLZs9RKoE/s200/speaker-1596210__340.jpg" width="132" /></a>Several years ago, Pam, a Toastmaster friend, gave a speech about Sabbath. I’ve never forgotten the concept she put forth. It’s time set aside from busyness to commune with God. And so, at various times since then, I’ve tried to schedule a Sabbath. The times I’ve achieved that in my life totally demonstrated to me why it’s necessary. Yet, life happens, and the Sabbath gets lost in the hurry and chaos of living. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OobwlkKWkGhaO-_nA3TyptDrcmSb08N9XB1GrKN5JPh-8TWRQ8hMTNUkFWcmK62vrY06-vj0F5BcWG9lt_GSitPjbyFlVlO8MXgPu88-ilT8_2PR205ivU_RU2KJXm88BtCCE-U4wJG3/s1600/amish-738547__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="225" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OobwlkKWkGhaO-_nA3TyptDrcmSb08N9XB1GrKN5JPh-8TWRQ8hMTNUkFWcmK62vrY06-vj0F5BcWG9lt_GSitPjbyFlVlO8MXgPu88-ilT8_2PR205ivU_RU2KJXm88BtCCE-U4wJG3/s200/amish-738547__340.jpg" width="131" /></a>Recently a friend chose to re-arrange her work schedule to observe the Sabbath on Saturday, in accordance with Jewish law. I’ve been in awe of her ability to shift her life that way. And it has caused me to ponder, again, the need for Sabbath in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A few months ago, I traveled to Amish country. Their whole lifestyle reflects a Sabbath culture. And on Sunday, God is the focus all day. Only the absolute necessities, such as milking the cows, are accomplished on their Sabbath. They live a centered life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9QqJ8EjwLM2lM2y_zt3bpnwKJjMDVgyxw3AK1tySbAe9Cp3gc-dKvhbxIBSGdDLj8bs-Q-rwrLm1wilz3a4zIoymhrZ6ga8gJZJ3wRBQY-9PNxYCP8cOzO42T_8OTxv4TdBUS2bk5fWn/s1600/podcast-2659480__340.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="680" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9QqJ8EjwLM2lM2y_zt3bpnwKJjMDVgyxw3AK1tySbAe9Cp3gc-dKvhbxIBSGdDLj8bs-Q-rwrLm1wilz3a4zIoymhrZ6ga8gJZJ3wRBQY-9PNxYCP8cOzO42T_8OTxv4TdBUS2bk5fWn/s200/podcast-2659480__340.png" width="200" /></a>And now, this morning, the podcast I listened to explained the need for us as Christ-followers to observe a Sabbath. Chuck Swindoll’s definition of Sabbath is to “rest and reflect”. In our world, we all need that. As fragmented as we may feel, a time to rest and reflect will bring us back to center, to the main value in our life, God’s love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In her speech, Pam explained a Sabbath can be when you choose. If Wednesday is the day you can set aside, then that works. If a whole day is impossible, what matters is a specific time and focus to rest and reflect. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhF0DsDxuWYaey1IUY87zFTsxfClP2ucqbo51di9mj2KE6xrqOum84uySfQWpll5l-7WCUg7S9O1h-mqAjbPtyDg6bAtknc9hcO_iatlK4IeoWOgP6kc99IkRsLuHt-9XwOxgT1pUf9VCl/s1600/cup-4456606__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="509" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhF0DsDxuWYaey1IUY87zFTsxfClP2ucqbo51di9mj2KE6xrqOum84uySfQWpll5l-7WCUg7S9O1h-mqAjbPtyDg6bAtknc9hcO_iatlK4IeoWOgP6kc99IkRsLuHt-9XwOxgT1pUf9VCl/s200/cup-4456606__340.jpg" width="200" /></a>I am feeling the need for Sabbath in my life. I am retired now, but as I look at my life, I don’t know how I ever found time to work. I do take time for meditation and reading, but that’s not Sabbath to me. I’ve been experimenting with some mini-Sabbaths early in the morning, on my patio, with the birds singing. That’s just made me hungry for more. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s a choice I need to make, to set aside time for God. Maybe you could do the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“I will remember my song in the night; I will meditate with my heart, and my spirit ponders.” Psalm 77:6 (NASB)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-46083373026518233602019-09-08T15:59:00.001-07:002019-09-08T16:01:19.170-07:00Just a Strand<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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No cat. <i>Probably just a bug crawling on the camera. That happens sometimes. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Once again, my head aimed for the pillow. And once again, the alarm sounded. I was determined to catch the culprit this time. Turning on the flood light for the yard, I searched for signs of any movement. <o:p></o:p></div>
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None. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Third time’s a charm. This time I knew there had been sufficient time for the video to display, so I checked the event list. One strand of a cobweb hanging from the gutter moved slowly back and forth in front of the camera. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLM19YCy6AhT9DBNHy_pPbXKqfralnSdIbs_LEgcricazWtUJ8mkw032QhA1mrpsfLMMUMkH4QZW7GRx6oVYgwK6c6177D-9jICyxuXYybCAAgFJbQCQz7Ox7nzLhJcJShiA63GmAG8upY/s1600/cobweb-3814846__340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="504" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLM19YCy6AhT9DBNHy_pPbXKqfralnSdIbs_LEgcricazWtUJ8mkw032QhA1mrpsfLMMUMkH4QZW7GRx6oVYgwK6c6177D-9jICyxuXYybCAAgFJbQCQz7Ox7nzLhJcJShiA63GmAG8upY/s200/cobweb-3814846__340.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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A cobweb. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This involved me putting on a house coat and house shoes, taking a trip to the garage for the broom and then walking to the back yard. I saw no cobweb but swished the broom madly in all directions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>There, that took care of that. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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No sooner had I climbed in bed, than the alarm repeated its message. I do have the comedy routine on video, where I look like a wild woman, swinging that broom around the yard. Up and down. Back and forth. Where in the world was that bloomin’ cobweb? It wasn’t even a full-blown web; just a strand. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, by now I was wide awake. Even though the alarm was silent, my brain was not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s when the thought occurred to me that life can be just like that. It may be something very small and insignificant to us, but perhaps to someone else, their alarm bells are going off. Maybe they were raised in an alcoholic home, you go out to dinner with them and they react to you having a glass of wine. They may say something, or they may not. They may just avoid you after that. The picture of that glass of wine in your hand is more than they can handle. Mentally, they are waving that broom all around. <br />
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We just never know what life experiences they’ve encountered.<br />
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As a Christ-follower, I pray that I can be sensitive to the smallest signal someone emits. Even though I may not understand the trauma, I can care about the aftermath they are dealing with and be there for them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“We’re all adrift in the same boat; too few days, too many troubles. … So why not give us a break? Ease up! … You’ll watch over every step I take, but you won’t keep track of my missteps.” Job 14:1, 6, 16 (MSG)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8641412915369827709.post-15025483399623968392019-09-04T12:26:00.000-07:002019-09-04T12:26:03.083-07:00My Helper<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
As a person who lives alone, I’ve become more aware of the consequences of falling. I hang on to something solid any time I use the step stool. I make sure the floor has no obstructions in my pathway. And since my brother fell a few weeks ago, breaking ribs and hip, I have increased my vigilance. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3KC-WB1_Lq79gAYRFYLpngcSWK7PRipN_MB0-gW__75IUNPaYZqqqBbSf9s_ufASuJ2IVjT-PVKXmbcmIY1Xotz6Vmfw0hYn4rShSUz5JwZ72zCwNjq5owW_irhDNcs_l2HcygEr6kO-/s1600/IMG_0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3KC-WB1_Lq79gAYRFYLpngcSWK7PRipN_MB0-gW__75IUNPaYZqqqBbSf9s_ufASuJ2IVjT-PVKXmbcmIY1Xotz6Vmfw0hYn4rShSUz5JwZ72zCwNjq5owW_irhDNcs_l2HcygEr6kO-/s200/IMG_0041.jpg" width="150" /></a>That’s why this scripture caught my attention as I read my Bible the other day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“It’s better to have a partner than go it alone. ….. If one falls down, the other helps. But if there’s no one to help, tough!” Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 (MSG)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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That last sentence made me chuckle. <i>Tough.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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There is a way to have help in my earthly world. It’s a little device I carry in my pocket. If I fall, I push the button and someone is there to respond to my need. And even though I didn’t mean to test it, I know it works. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwX5HJxBCy5kTd84mEfI1M1xZVZSu5ui5n6ud8le-ZJ1q1yMf1It9soGTNquFYObuvA87ZUdIBlyZCj7v9gDaQQEhiKA-TDorIGbs7r2HxK8AiTIm3I46mjs6-8yfQRK4h3sT2qvkcMyS/s1600/IMG_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwX5HJxBCy5kTd84mEfI1M1xZVZSu5ui5n6ud8le-ZJ1q1yMf1It9soGTNquFYObuvA87ZUdIBlyZCj7v9gDaQQEhiKA-TDorIGbs7r2HxK8AiTIm3I46mjs6-8yfQRK4h3sT2qvkcMyS/s200/IMG_0040.jpg" width="150" /></a>At work one day, I bumped the corner of my desk as I passed by. Suddenly my pocket was talking. “This is Sean. Are you ok?” My boss turned to look at me. “Who’s talking?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I reached in my pocket and removed the device. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m ok. I’m at work and just bumped into my desk.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Is there anyone there with you who can verify you are ok?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s when my boss’s sense of humor kicked in. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes, I’m her boss. Now get back to work.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sean was assured it was an accident. And I now carry that little tool with the button turned inward to avoid further mishaps. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But I have so much more than just a piece of equipment in my pocket. God walks through each day with me. </div>
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I’m never going it alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Joy Bachhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729214407400213985noreply@blogger.com2