tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17788516019938949102024-03-05T19:24:15.203-08:00Your Husband's Deepest DesireSharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-78437583903692895672011-04-01T20:54:00.000-07:002011-04-02T10:58:31.072-07:00And Now, The Rest of the StoryOn January 5 I wrote a post entitled "<a href="http://husbandsdeepestdesire.blogspot.com/2011/01/wives-submit.html">Wives, Submit</a>". It was then that I publicly announced our plans to abandon California for a lower cost of living. At the time we had no prospects for work or housing. What we had was the answer my husband received when he prayed.<br />
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<blockquote><i>My husband went to the Lord with all of his fears and returned multiple times with the same answer. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"You need to move in May."</i></blockquote><blockquote><i>I went to the Lord with all of my anticipation and returned multiple times with the same answer.</i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"Organize yourselves. Prepare every needful thing."</i></blockquote>My husband went back to God at least five times asking for clarification. (I think he was actually asking God to reverse his decision.) The answer became more clear. Bruce told me that we were expected to move to Nauvoo, Illinois by May 31st. <br />
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I trust in my husband. I trust in God. So, since January 5th I have been preparing every needful thing. I have been preparing and packing and cleaning fully expecting a late May departure date. I admit that it was difficult when people asked questions and I had no satisfactory answers. <br />
<blockquote>"So? Do you have job?" </blockquote><blockquote>"Where will you live?"</blockquote><blockquote>"How will you survive?"</blockquote><blockquote>"How will you get there?"</blockquote><blockquote>"Do you realize how much it costs to move?"</blockquote>I could only square my shoulders and respond, "My husband prayed and God told him that we need to move." <br />
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I had read that only by believing could I receive. (<a href="http://bible.cc/matthew/21-22.htm">Matthew 21:22</a>) It was all I could do to walk by faith.<br />
<blockquote><i>"I have set about reducing the size of our household and making some money by selling our excess on eBay and Amazon. When I look at the total sum value of the items I am selling, the goal will not be met. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>But, I have faith in the Lord. He did not tell me to make $3,000. He told me to organize and prepare. Each day I fight back the demons that taunt and tease me about the futility of my efforts."</i></blockquote>And on that day (January 5th) I also wrote this:<br />
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<blockquote><i>Two months later, the job is tentative. A long shot, actually.</i></blockquote><blockquote><i>The move is definite.</i></blockquote>That job did not pan out. Today is April 1st. We have thirty days in April and thirty-one days in May to accomplish what the Lord has asked of us.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">As of this evening the move is VERY definite because a home is definite and a job is definite.</div><br />
The job is that of Innkeeper at the <a href="http://www.nauvoovacation.com/rufus_abbott.htm">Rufus Abbott Manor Bed and Breakfast</a> in Nauvoo, Illinois. The house is the Innkeeper's "apartment" on site. <br />
<br />
Really! Truly! This is not an April Fool's Day Joke. Seriously. <br />
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So? Tell me? Have you ever fantasized about running a Bed and Breakfast? <br />
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I sure have. <br />
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Now comes the final stage of preparation. Raising the funds needed to move. I entered a contest on Brickfish (a whole other story) and Brickfish went out of business just as the winner was to be announced. It would have very nearly paid for the moving van. <br />
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I was lamenting the loss when a fellow writer, <a href="http://michelleldevon.com/">Michelle Devon</a>, suggested that I hold a fund raiser. She suggested that I offer a free ebook to anyone who donates to our moving fund. <br />
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I have not yet published the ebook on Smashwords but now that the big hurdle is behind me, I will get that up and available as soon as possible. For tonight, I am setting up the Pledgie site because I promised my husband that I would. I'm calling it "In Pursuit of Self-Reliance".<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pledgie.com/campaigns/15053"><img alt="Click here to lend your support to: Defeating The Catch-22 and make a donation at www.pledgie.com !" border="0" src="http://www.pledgie.com/campaigns/15053.png?skin_name=chrome" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-55951557695449707652011-02-16T10:01:00.000-08:002011-02-16T10:01:07.897-08:00Having Had a Spiritual AwakeningMy husband, Bruce, asked if we could study the scriptures together this morning. This is a RED letter day!<br />
<br />
Remember, Bruce has aphasia. Aphasia is an acquired language disorder "in which there is an impairment of any language modality. This may include difficulty in producing or comprehending spoken or written language." In Bruce's case he has difficulty producing <u>and</u> comprehending spoken <u>and</u> written language. <br />
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Learning to read and write again is an enormous struggle. To share scripture study with him has been a dream since we married nearly six years ago. But he has difficulty comprehending common English. I have tried to read the scriptures to him but his eyes glaze over after a verse or two. Studying the scriptures as a couple was a dream I finally set aside. <br />
<br />
Imagine my surprise this morning when he asked if we could study the scriptures together. We talked about it for a few minutes. We agreed that attempting to start at "the beginning" of a book or even a chapter and simply read straight through would complicate comprehension for him. I felt that we would be better served to choose a topic and a small portion of scripture and study that one passage. We could then discuss the scripture and apply it to what we know about life and living.<br />
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So? Which one passage would be best?<br />
<br />
I could have started anywhere. I'm sure that some of my readers have suggestions popping into their minds right now that would have been perfectly acceptable. <br />
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I chose Luke 22:31-32 wherein Jesus counsels Peter to strengthen his brethren after he was converted. This scripture is mentioned in the 12th Step Study and Understanding section of the Addiction Recovery Program manual that we discuss at our Wednesday night meetings. <br />
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Bruce had asked me earlier if I would mind if he did not attend tonight. It is not his night to facilitate the discussion and we're discussing Step 12 - again. I told him I was not his mother and he could choose for himself. I thought it would be helpful if we discussed the step together since I would be missing his contribution to the sharing at tonight's meeting.<br />
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<blockquote><i><b>Luke 22:31-32 (King James Version)</b></i></blockquote><blockquote><i><b>31 And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat:</b></i></blockquote><blockquote><i><b>32 But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren</b></i></blockquote><br />
Bruce and I both learned a lot from that passage of scripture this morning. <br />
<br />
We learned that Jesus prays for us. My conscience was pricked. When Bruce ends his prayers he says "Please pray for us." I admitted to Bruce that I was often mildly irritated when he would pray because I thought he was being quite presumptuous. Obviously, I have been mistaken.<br />
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Jesus does pray for us. Why not ask Him when we feel in need?<br />
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Then Bruce and I talked about how the devil would try to shake our faith and how he has been doing that in our lives quite a bit lately. We reviewed our recent struggles and recognized numerous occasions where Satan had been gaining a foothold. <br />
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We talked about how Bruce is sponsoring two people in the AA program and sharing what he knows in almost daily meetings.<br />
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As a sponsor, Bruce receives phone calls throughout the day. The men that he sponsors call when they are struggling with the desire to drink or when the details of life are tripping them up. I told Bruce that I notice that he never gets caught up in the details of people's perils but goes straight to the point when he teaches.<br />
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"How so?" He truly needed clarification and not an ego boost.<br />
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"Every time your guys talk to you, you listen. They might spend ten minutes explaining their situation and talking about details. Every time you tell them the same thing. You tell them to pray and to listen. You are telling them to have faith. Then you tell them that you will pray for them and I know that you do. Your instructions never change. Your message is always the same. Just like Jesus' message to Peter."<br />
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I am grateful today for God's word and the ability to use it in our lives. I am grateful for a husband who relies on God for wisdom. I am grateful for a husband who practices the twelfth step every day of our life.<br />
<blockquote style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Step 12 - </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Service</span></b></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><b>"Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, share this message with others and practice these principles in all you do."</b></blockquote><br />
P.S. Bruce will be attending tonight's meeting. He recognized that not wanting to go was "the guy downstairs messing with me" <br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><br />
<iframe align="right" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=bythesefruits-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0536764123&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: right; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-74556359233105827592011-02-02T21:26:00.000-08:002011-04-01T21:12:41.551-07:00Sharin' for Sharon<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;">A favorite writer and 'online friend' of mine just published an article about me. ME? Yup, about me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;">What is surprising is that Michelle Devon (the author) and I have never met. Yet she has gone to great lengths to plead for the help of others, especially fellow writers, in my behalf. </span><br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><i>The thing is, in this life, we have the chance to make choices that affect other people’s lives in so many ways–both positive and negative, kind and hurtful–and perhaps the most horrible way possible, the apathetic. When we stop caring, we lose what makes us human.</i> </span></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">(Michelle Devon)</span></div></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;">See the rest of what she said here:</span><br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><a href="http://blog.michelleldevon.com/2011/02/02/sharing-for-sharon/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Sharing for Sharon</span></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;">Living the Writer's Dream</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 14px;">Michelle Devon</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
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</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"></span></span>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-34891078543586636172011-01-26T14:36:00.000-08:002011-01-26T16:51:40.267-08:00Spell Breaking MagicThis morning's episode of <a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Pages/Blogs/BlogView.aspx?qsi=54232663">the fairy tale</a> I've been writing for a Brickfish contest presents an interesting concept. <br />
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Until the heroine (Persnickety Princess Penelope) showed an interest in the activity of the hero (Ferdinand the frog), he did not seem the least bit interested. (One reader actually asked me if the frogs were gathered willingly, knowingly or eagerly.) It surely seemed that Ferdinand was simply enduring the contest. <br />
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Today that perspective was altered.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://highedge.vo.llnwd.net/d1/3_prod/d1/Picture/01/26/23/15_50880666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://highedge.vo.llnwd.net/d1/3_prod/d1/Picture/01/26/23/15_50880666.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><blockquote><i>Festus and Ferdinand were selected for the second race and were waiting their turn a few paces back from the starting line. The Princess was watching the first racers. Ferdinand was watching the Princess. Keeping him sitting for hours with her hand looming over every head, never choosing, had soured his opinion of the persnickety Princess. This new Princess, animated and excited for a competition, was captivating. "Earth to Ferdinand! Ferdinand!" Ferdinand nearly jumped out of his skin. "What? What did you say?" Festus nodded towards the starting line. "We're next. You got a strategy in mind?" Ferdinand snorted. "Move fast. Jump high. Crouch low. Repeat. That should do it."</i></blockquote>I got to thinking about it today. Could this be the "big secret" to success or failure in marriage? If my husband does not think that I have an interest in his activities, will he think that I love him? Will he believe that I respect him? Will he think he even matters or will he think I am just going through the motions? <br />
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If you've been following my fairy tale, it was heading in that direction: Superficial princess selects shallow frog and prepares to magically transform him into a prince. <br />
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Real life does not come with spell breaking magic; not the kind we read of in fairy tales. <br />
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I'm not going to dissect this story any further today. I just wanted to take a look at how I treat my "prince". <br />
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I have not been showing interest in (respecting) the important things in his life and he's become a bit of a toad. <br />
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</div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(I need your vote every day.)</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>Thank you!</div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-7597638354195829132011-01-23T14:46:00.000-08:002011-01-23T14:47:15.338-08:00Did You Think to Pray?Today's chapter in our <a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Pages/Blogs/BlogView.aspx?qsi=54103430">ongoing fairy tale</a> may surprise some people. References to God or prayer don't generally appear in stories of fantasy. I decided it was high time to give it a try.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56oWh5Y2jEcam0bCXEkMgz81kai8uk_AiHFvPhFldqyvgVbHk30f5r3fX67eZwVeJqeTg2fmf5TGZco4IpDrG3yUIn2DHMKIdIAELjRH6E9cYs0lbW2aKxxymLJqmq8pSQGr3DUJRCRRp/s1600/this+takes+patience.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56oWh5Y2jEcam0bCXEkMgz81kai8uk_AiHFvPhFldqyvgVbHk30f5r3fX67eZwVeJqeTg2fmf5TGZco4IpDrG3yUIn2DHMKIdIAELjRH6E9cYs0lbW2aKxxymLJqmq8pSQGr3DUJRCRRp/s320/this+takes+patience.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><blockquote><i>Princess Penelope was seated at breakfast when her father arrived. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"Good morning, Princess. Did you sleep well?" </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>The princess shook her head as she swallowed. "It was a difficult night. I woke often." </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>Her father sat across from his daughter and looked her in the eye. "I am sorry to hear that my dear. This is a difficult decision; one that you must not make in haste. Yet, you must also not expect the answer to come simply because you have taken time and great caution." </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>Picking a frog was serious business. If the king had insight to share, she was willing to listen. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"Be intentional in your quest. When you hold your hand above each frog, you must ask God if your choice is right."</i></blockquote><br />
Have you, like me, ever watched a television show or a movie and become frustrated when no one addresses problems with prayer? It drives me absolutely crazy sometimes. So many story lines would go completely different if the character would pray and respond to the answer given. <br />
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I was teaching my little Sunbeams (4 year olds) about prayer today. I asked them if they could tell me why it is important to remain quiet when a prayer is being said. No one really had an answer. The two other adults in the room also looked to me, somewhat puzzled to consider what the answer might be. <br />
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The answer is something that my husband taught me. He said that when he prays, he talks aloud to God and then says his ohms (clears his mind). "And then I close my mouth in quietness and I listen and I follow what is said." <br />
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It is wonderful counsel and I honor him for providing it. It is such "successful" advise that I cannot consider life without following it. I wonder what will happen with our Princess. Will she think to pray? Or will she continue to lean on her own understanding? <br />
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<a href="http://www.brickfish.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,Arial,Sans-Serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Brickfish</a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-58190428506241774582011-01-22T12:42:00.000-08:002011-01-22T12:42:30.922-08:00I Idolized My FatherAs a little girl, I idolized my father. There was nothing that he could do wrong. He was Superman and Einstein all rolled up into one.<br />
<br />
As I grew older, I realized that even fathers have foibles. They do things that irritate or agitate or even devastate their children. My dad was like that. That made it difficult to reconcile the command to "honor my father" with my awareness of my father's fallibility. <br />
<br />
In our <a href="http://husbandsdeepestdesire.blogspot.com/2011/01/man-of-my-dreams.html">unfolding fairy tale</a>, our princess Penelope has just about to come face to face with that same problem. She is, however, much wiser than I was at that age. I did not even attempt to recognize that my father was ever a young man with all the faults and shortcomings that attend the human youth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9tsMsNeIJrPhb0NwwGNgAVxViY5vs5-tiVRXi-OqR5ZjiAJ6OYefHO5Wis_J_X32dI8o-_y28RU3oFHqfx3wnvxtHfHiUNl_HsUdwYYF1YAE_sjlcIU2qvCFPKbP5a8CVOPp3HxYLRQ_/s1600/look+at+me+look+at+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9tsMsNeIJrPhb0NwwGNgAVxViY5vs5-tiVRXi-OqR5ZjiAJ6OYefHO5Wis_J_X32dI8o-_y28RU3oFHqfx3wnvxtHfHiUNl_HsUdwYYF1YAE_sjlcIU2qvCFPKbP5a8CVOPp3HxYLRQ_/s320/look+at+me+look+at+me.jpg" width="84" /></a></div><blockquote><i>The Princess stared at the ceiling. The dream had been so real. The handsome prince waiting at the altar was not a prince at all. He had been a frog. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"It's all those frog faces I looked into today. Each one's face pleading to be chosen." </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>Princess Penelope closed her eyes but sleep would not come. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"I cannot stay awake all night thinking of this. I wish my mother were still alive. She did this. I wonder how?" </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>The Princess tried to remember if her mother had ever spoken of choosing her frog. </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>"Her FROG? My father was a frog?" </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>She supposed she had always known but it was hard to imagine her father as a frog in a pool of frogs and her mother stretching out her hand to choose him.</i></blockquote>By now, my adult readers are coming to an awareness of the analogous relationship between frogs and men in our fairy tale, so I will not beleaguer that point. Do stop for a moment and remember when you realized that your father was not the prince of your childhood. Were you able to continue loving him, your father, in spite of his short comings? (For me, that did not happen right away.)<br />
<br />
What I would like to bring to our awareness is how we tend to set our own husbands up against that same fantasy prince persona that we once held our fathers to. <br />
<br />
I promise you, that we will not be disappointed as long as we accept them for exactly who they are, right now -AND - we cannot respect or honor them until we do.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.brickfish.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,Arial,Sans-Serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Brickfish</a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-52713767025660674252011-01-21T10:44:00.000-08:002011-01-21T10:45:56.028-08:00The Man of My DreamsWhen we left off with <a href="http://husbandsdeepestdesire.blogspot.com/2011/01/every-frog-is-meant-to-be-prince-right.html">our story yesterday</a> the cranky princess was giving up for the day. She had spent hours in the sun, considering a pool of frogs from which she was expected to choose one to kiss. (Thus transforming the slimy frog into a perfect prince that she would marry and with whom she would live happily ever after). The story picks up today:<br />
<blockquote><i>As the Princess drifted off to sleep she remembered her childhood fantasies of a dream wedding. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>She would enter the cathedral to the melody of a harp and flute. She would walk down the aisle in a gown of white organza with beading on the long train. Through her veil she could see her gallant knight waiting at the altar, dressed in the finest robes of blue to match his eyes, trimmed in gold to match his hair. He would smile as she came near. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Suddenly, Penelope woke and wiped the tears streaming down her face. The smile of the fine prince had become the grin of every frog that she had considered that day.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Which frog had she chosen to be the prince of her dreams in her dream? </i></blockquote><blockquote><i>(to be continued)</i></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEjiBamlb-7QGKOSP9zZCHPyVfRGKjZR7EK2XRyvClnOQhDNS5UT5kLKihVs__zrsuU_Se3hzqSWGcKoziFZbg918fDb0uLT9DwWkN0G8Zo5991jmVFu96BiBUWv15_jL64F3LcElvECk/s1600/pick+me+pick+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEjiBamlb-7QGKOSP9zZCHPyVfRGKjZR7EK2XRyvClnOQhDNS5UT5kLKihVs__zrsuU_Se3hzqSWGcKoziFZbg918fDb0uLT9DwWkN0G8Zo5991jmVFu96BiBUWv15_jL64F3LcElvECk/s200/pick+me+pick+me.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>As I was writing this segment (chapter, if you will) my mind reviewed the past. <br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I had dreamed as so many little girls do - of fairy tale princess gowns, magnificent castle, the hunkly-handsome man, our vast kingdom trimmed with white picket fencing and everything set to a birdsong soundtrack. Never, ever, ever was the dastardly dragon of reality allowed to impose itself in my dreams.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>Just like the princess in my story, how incredibly misguided I had been as a young woman. I chose my boyfriends and my husbands by "leaning on my own understanding". My understanding was completely out of whack and my choices proved to be disastrous.<br />
<br />
Life is not a fairy tale and like Humpty Dumpty, I had a great fall. My life shattered into oh-so-many little pieces. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowDASDpDneYgSpF0gHyu4mdcatA-kCn81AXT080iEthjXfpNsciNqhA4PNp4DLei-BNtVN57Zt43GuCzwEcbLTZ3D2X-86q-yLmSRoH5YVlMTvaUOBzLa5VMWKSdoIu2F4StDz1fAR8n6/s1600/Why+are+we+here.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowDASDpDneYgSpF0gHyu4mdcatA-kCn81AXT080iEthjXfpNsciNqhA4PNp4DLei-BNtVN57Zt43GuCzwEcbLTZ3D2X-86q-yLmSRoH5YVlMTvaUOBzLa5VMWKSdoIu2F4StDz1fAR8n6/s200/Why+are+we+here.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>BUT this is where the story veered off its course. All the King's horses and all the King's men, really did put me together again. <br />
<br />
I relied on my God and King for the first time in my life and the results have been remarkable. The frog that he sent me to kiss with respect and nurture with love - truly is a prince with kingly attributes and a royal future. He truly is the man of my dreams.<br />
<br />
Consider, as you think of frogs and princesses, princes and kings - could "the kiss" be metaphor for respect? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.brickfish.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,Arial,Sans-Serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">(I've Ever Taken)</a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-75797136400401222552011-01-20T15:25:00.000-08:002011-01-21T20:01:41.646-08:00Every Frog Is Meant To Be A Prince! Right?<blockquote>Some of my readers have been following along with a contest that I have entered. Many have been voting for the photo on the merits of the photo alone. That is wonderful and I appreciate it. <br />
<br />
I heard today that some people are unaware of the unfolding story that accompanies the photograph. I have been using the photo description field to tell a fairy tale. Some people have missed it all together and others have missed earlier episodes. I've compiled the entire tale (to date) and I offer it below. </blockquote><blockquote>More "episodes" will be revealed daily until the end of the contest. Why?<br />
<br />
(1) Because I am permitted only 700 characters in the entry description, and </blockquote><blockquote>(2) Because I want to entice people to visit and vote every day, and </blockquote><blockquote>(3) Because, as with traditional fairy tales, this tale will teach a lesson. This is a fairy tale about love and respect and following the counsel of God. </blockquote><br />
Once upon a time the King of the Boardwalk called for thirty eligible frogs to vie for the hand of his fair daughter, the Princess. Each frog received a number to display upon their chest. <br />
<br />
"You'd think we were running a marathon," one particularly portly frog complained to his neighbor in the pool. <br />
<br />
"This is my lucky number," another exclaimed. "I just know she'll choose me." <br />
<br />
The King arrived with the Princess. The crowd cheered but the frogs grew quiet, watching above their heads as the Princess reached her hand toward the pool. <br />
<br />
Who among them would she choose? <br />
Ferdinand gazed at the face of the Princess. She was more beautiful than he had been told. Her lips were as pink as water lilies. He sat motionless, knowing she would soon lift him to her lips and break the spell that held him captive. She did not even look his way. Her eyes searched the far side of the pool. <br />
<br />
Ferdinand raised up to survey his competition. He gasped. The Princess began to reach for a frog near the edge of the pond. Ferdinand nearly jumped out of his skin. <br />
<br />
He called out "foul" for he knew the frog to be an imposter. Surely, the Kiss of a Princess would never release such a cad. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Pfft." <br />
<br />
Festus heard the other frog but dared not blink or turn to look. The hand had stopped to hover above his head. <br />
<br />
"What in tarnation have I got myself into this time?" <br />
<br />
One minute he was dreaming in the warm mud of his holler in Froggy Bottom. <br />
<br />
"Now I got a couple dozen other fellers crammed in this here pool and all a starin' at me. Look at their frozen eyes. What they got to be scared of anyhow? She ain't a reachin' in to pick them up by their heads." <br />
<br />
It did not bother Princess Penelope that people called her "The Persnickety Princess". The shortened "Princess P" was also an appropriate name. <br />
<br />
"I know I am particular," she would say. "I am particular with a P." <br />
<br />
The King would snort a retort. "You are particularly nitpicky, my Princess P." <br />
<br />
As Princess Penelope poised her hand above the pool of frogs, she was peculiarly particular. To kiss one frog was disgusting but to kiss yet another would be repulsive. To make this selection, the Princess would be positively punctilious and so she paused. <br />
<br />
With her hand yet suspended above Festus, the Princess thoughtfully surveyed the huddle of frogs. <br />
<br />
Ferdinand kept his gaze on her face hoping their eyes would meet when she looked his way. He heard the fly buzzing before it landed between his eyes. His skin began to twitch and his tongue instinctively started to dart from his mouth. <br />
<br />
He could not bite his tongue, as frogs do not have teeth. <br />
<br />
He could not purse his lips, as frogs have no lips. <br />
<br />
Sheer will-power held his tongue when the gaze of the Princess met his. It is difficult to say whose eyes crossed first, but as the Princess turned away in discomfort, Ferdinand snatched his snack.<br />
<br />
Ferdinand kept watch on the Princess while pressing the squirming fly against the roof his mouth until his tongue grew sore. He could wait no longer. He gulped loudly. <br />
<br />
With a snap, Princess Penelope withdrew her hand and turned away. <br />
<br />
The King caught Ferdinand's eye as he gulped again. A smile began to tickle the corners of the King's mouth. <br />
<br />
"Princess?" The king stepped to her side and placed his hand on her shoulder. "These fellows are famished. If you do not choose your prince in two minutes, I will order a recess. They must eat a decent meal or perish where they are." <br />
<br />
To the King's surprise, his daughter blinked, returned her attention to the pool and stretched out her hand.<br />
<br />
The crowd grew quiet. <br />
<br />
The wait staff stopped setting up tables and turned to watch. <br />
<br />
The paparazzi and reporters froze where they were. Every camera was trained on the hand of Princess Penelope and a microphone on a long boom was held above her head. <br />
<br />
The King grew concerned. Surely Persnickety Princess Penelope was not about to make the decision of a lifetime in less than two minutes! <br />
<br />
The King signaled for his guards to clear his way to join his daughter at the edge of the pool. He arrived to hear her address the would-be-princes at her feet. <br />
<br />
"The Bug Chef has been commissioned to prepare a meal. We should not disappoint him. My staff will assist you to your seats."<br />
<br />
"Highness? The King has assembled the frogs in the pool. Your prince awaits you." <br />
<br />
Penelope had chosen a gown with three quarter length sleeves so as to avoid soiling the dress when selecting a frog. Her naptime had been devoted to further considerations, not sleep. <br />
<br />
While the frogs were enjoying a feast of roasted cicadas in a centipede sauce, the Princess was considering the appropriate manner for lifting a would-be-prince from the pool. Contrary to popular belief the Persnickety Princess did not intend to lift anyone by his head. She would either slip her hand beneath his belly or she would grasp him about his body. <br />
<br />
She returned to the pool of frogs and stretched out her hand.<br />
<br />
When Festus and Ferdinand had been seated together at dinner, Ferdinand realized he had been mistaken about Festus. Now, back in the pool and finding himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Festus, Ferdinand apologized. <br />
<br />
"I should not have called foul on you. I mistook you for a bully I know. You look just like him. Maybe you're related." <br />
<br />
Festus grinned. "Pfft. No harm, no foul. I knowed a few toads in my time, too." <br />
<br />
The joke went right over Ferdinand's head and that is right where Princess Penelope's hand stopped and hovered once again. The two frogs glanced at each other before each turned their gaze to her beautiful face. She was captivating. <br />
<br />
She smiled and knees grew weak.<br />
<br />
The Princess moved away, considering each frog as it fell beneath the shadow of her hand. <br />
<br />
"Psst. Festus! How's she going to choose a prince doing that? Do you think her shadow knows?" <br />
<br />
Festus kept his eye on the Princess. "I dunno. I thought we was gonna jump or somethin." <br />
<br />
"You're kidding! Right?" <br />
<br />
Ferdinand and Festus kept watching the Princess. <br />
<br />
"Heck, I dunno if I'm even supposed to be a prince." <br />
<br />
Ferdinand stuttered. "What did you say? Every frog is meant to be a prince! Right?" <br />
<br />
Festus was quiet for a minute. "I know lots of frogs that ain't princes. Heck, even my Pa ain't no Prince." <br />
<br />
Ferdinand was confused. "Never chosen to be a prince? How could that be?"<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Please, Click on the Vote button below and come back tomorrow for another episode as the Princess moves closer and closer to making her choice. Will it be a correct choice or will she lean on her own understanding?<br />
<br />
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<center><object align="middle" height="300" id="PropShell" width="300"><param name="movie" value="http://www.brickfish.com/FlashServices/GetPropSWF.frss?contentcode=3_7351490_0_103_-1_589&swfv=6&isfull=0&forlabel=0&htid=20d1d91e-0bcd-4e61-95eb-7a2a6e58582f&ispreview=0&phtid=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000&pbapi=-1&pbvi=218816157&stgw=300&stgh=300&sitedom=www.brickfish.com&autoplay=0&lcid=1033" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="WMode" value="Transparent" /><embed src="http://www.brickfish.com/FlashServices/GetPropSWF.frss?contentcode=3_7351490_0_103_-1_589&swfv=6&isfull=0&forlabel=0&htid=20d1d91e-0bcd-4e61-95eb-7a2a6e58582f&ispreview=0&phtid=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000&pbapi=-1&pbvi=218816157&stgw=300&stgh=300&sitedom=www.brickfish.com&autoplay=0&lcid=1033" quality="high" width="300" height="300" name="PropShell" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" ></embed></object></center></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.brickfish.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,Arial,Sans-Serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Brickfish</a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table></blockquote>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-41126826803891697912011-01-15T20:09:00.000-08:002011-03-30T21:44:56.682-07:00For Richer, For PoorerWe're off to a pretty rough start for 2011. <br />
<br />
That may not be quite accurate. <br />
<br />
We took some pretty severe hits in 2010, financially speaking, and in December it all . . . . what?<br />
<br />
It didn't all come crashing in - I saw it coming for quite some distance.<br />
It didn't all blow up in my face - There was no one significant event, not really.<br />
It didn't come to a screeching halt - I know where we're going from here.<br />
It simply scared the apathy out of us and tossed the status quo out the window.<br />
<br />
And now, because my husband prayed with a most incredible faith in God, we know what the Lord would have us do. For my husband, it is not the answer he was looking for. <br />
<br />
He kinda hopes in the back of his mind that it'll work out for us like it did for Isaac. You know. God will pat us on our heads and recognize our good effort, calling a halt to the "carry through" and we can return to life "as usual".<br />
<br />
I chuckle because I do not expect that will happen. <br />
<br />
We will abandon my husband's life-long home. I say "good riddance" but he is conflicted. <br />
<br />
This state, California, is all that he has ever known since birth - aside from a short stint in Germany while he was in the Army. Since having the stroke it has become even more imperative that things in his world not change. <br />
<br />
Why do I say imperative? Because his stroke-induced short term memory difficulties are avoided when nothing changes. So, things in his house didn't move around. For years on end. Everything had a place and everything stayed in its place. <br />
<br />
Then he got lonely and asked God for a wife. <br />
God sent me.<br />
We got married and I moved his world<br />
Into our apartment.<br />
<br />
Oh my. It was traumatic.<br />
But he prayed and God reassured him.<br />
So he held on.<br />
He adjusted.<br />
<br />
Then he asked God for a dog.<br />
Dogs couldn't live in our apartment.<br />
So we rented a house and I moved his world.<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
Oh my. It was traumatic.<br />
But he prayed and God reassured him.<br />
So he held on.<br />
He adjusted.<br />
<br />
And we were well on our way to happily ever after.<br />
<br />
But real life is not a fairy tale.<br />
I had a stroke.<br />
I recovered.<br />
I went back to work.<br />
Our dog had a stroke (really).<br />
Just thought I 'd toss that in.<br />
<br />
We held on and got back to our happily ever after.<br />
<br />
But real life is not a fairy tale.<br />
I got laid off.<br />
I started a home business.<br />
It's going slow.<br />
His hours were cut. <br />
Three per week<br />
That's all he works.<br />
<br />
Did I mention we live in California? It is EXPENSIVE to live in California.<br />
I gave up driving 10 years ago when I arrived here to accommodate the increased cost of living. <br />
I saved on Car payments. Repair Bills. Smog Checks. Insurance. Gasoline. All that.<br />
We could do without. And we were just making ends meet.<br />
<br />
What I'm trying to say is that we had very little left to "tighten our belts" around when the economy took a nose dive. So, in 2010 I was forced to get very creative and I'm pretty proud of my accomplishments. But we are still spiraling downward.<br />
<br />
Just about the time that I was getting frightened and Bruce was getting frightened, a suggestion was made about moving to another state where the cost of living is much cheaper.<br />
<br />
So my husband asked God, "What should we do?"<br />
<br />
Let me pause here. If it were me, I would struggle not to tell God what I wanted Him to do.<br />
<br />
But not my husband.<br />
<br />
He quietly hoped for something that would let him stay here, where things don't change much.<br />
Most importantly, my husband told God he would do whatever he was asked to do.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://pics2.city-data.com/city/maps3/cms5725.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://pics2.city-data.com/city/maps3/cms5725.png" width="320" /></a></div>And God did not give him what he hoped for. <br />
<br />
God told him that we have to move - almost 2,000 miles away. <br />
<br />
It was not the answer my husband wanted but it was an answer he wouldn't deny.<br />
<br />
There are no words to describe how it feels to be married to someone so refreshingly obedient to God. My husband's obedience makes me happy. His obedience lets me feel protected, provided for, and loved.<br />
<br />
It has had me thinking. If his obedience to God makes me happy, then wouldn't my obedience to God probably make him happy?. <br />
<br />
Is it possible that God designed the rules for marriage so as to produce happiness in the marriage?<br />
<br />
Is it really that simple?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zazzle.com/i_otter_respect_you_more_card-137609773641842642?gl=heartensoul4u&rf=238989828573976344" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/i_otter_respect_you_more_card-p137609773641842642v1qr_325.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><s>One of my creative efforts to raise the money for the move is an entry in a photo contest where votes are requested daily. To keep my public interested in returning day after day after day - I am writing a fairy tale to entertain and entice. Well, see for yourself: </s></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><s><br />
</s></span></span><br />
(Note: The Brickfish Contest Ended without a winner when Brickfish went out of business.)Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-30120158656772810412011-01-12T03:00:00.000-08:002011-01-12T11:14:42.550-08:00The First Mistake<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPfnsFH_gxpq6NgtTKYKG9FQ8oWk-8aZfsPSmTAy6L7JrkO5UB3eLaAyyG0ts5opMaPQmwhVJaN7k6PeRMN4jFNfUmj_qQ3SeXaPvtIXKH0ZBv3NNELeLGoQBH1kfWJk3hBnQUqKHZQ3E/s1600/Ferdinand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPfnsFH_gxpq6NgtTKYKG9FQ8oWk-8aZfsPSmTAy6L7JrkO5UB3eLaAyyG0ts5opMaPQmwhVJaN7k6PeRMN4jFNfUmj_qQ3SeXaPvtIXKH0ZBv3NNELeLGoQBH1kfWJk3hBnQUqKHZQ3E/s200/Ferdinand.jpg" width="120" /></a>Continuing with yesterday's "<a href="http://husbandsdeepestdesire.blogspot.com/2011/01/fracturing-fairy-tale.html">Fracturing the Fairy Tale</a>", let's meet "Ferdinand".<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Ferdinand gazed at the face of the Princess. She was more beautiful than he had been told. Her lips were as pink as water lilies. He sat motionless, knowing she would soon lift him to her lips and break the spell that held him captive. She did not even look his way. Her eyes searched the far side of the pool. Ferdinand raised up to survey his competition. He gasped. The Princess began to reach for a frog near the edge of the pond. Ferdinand nearly jumped out of his skin. He called out "foul" for he knew the frog to be an imposter. Surely, the Kiss of a Princess would never release such a cad. (To be continued tomorrow.)</i><br />
<br />
I have mentioned in previous posts that I have failed at marriage, miserably, three times. <br />
<br />
The first mistake I made when selecting a husband was that I "leaned on my own understanding." I placed all the importance on his good looks and charm. <br />
<br />
Do you remember how it was when when we were young and we listed what we thought was important or "cool" in a guy? Did you ever <u>not</u> begin by describing what he looked like? And then he was supposed to laugh at your jokes, like the same music, enjoy the same food and would "tell me he loves no matter what".<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When a tall, dark and handsome man showed an interest in me I was captivated. I ignored every warning sign in his behavior.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>His character, faith and integrity were never considered. Counting on the beginning of all the "happily ever afters" in all the fairy tales I'd ever read, I was prepared to "fix" all his character weaknesses with a "kiss". After all, I was a princess and I had the magic touch. And no, I did not consult with my father and I did not consult with the King.<br />
<br />
Imagine my surprise when no matter how much I kissed my husband he would not turn into a prince. He continued to be who he was. <br />
<br />
So, I worked hard at fixing him. I told him how he was not all that he should be. And when that didn't work, I showed him how to become all that he could be. <br />
<br />
I never respected who he was and I never treated him like I did.<br />
<br />
I had decided before we ever married that the magic of my touch would transform him into something that I could respect. And when he didn't become a prince, I became a nag.<br />
<br />
It would be many, many years before I realized that the transforming "kiss of the Princess" in the fairy tale did not represent an actual kiss. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8W9lixgTaU-f7rdbVQi_rYN41w9eczZ9y0dgqMPCXiAyu-1g2xgRd-zrHF7-sv7-mI5bJcGFqj_EolrCIIeUAxtsK1ucduZotwWlATRC2kJ2PdMgbtQfha99RP_O2CmsYQ03S-ATPUgk/s1600/Ferdinand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8W9lixgTaU-f7rdbVQi_rYN41w9eczZ9y0dgqMPCXiAyu-1g2xgRd-zrHF7-sv7-mI5bJcGFqj_EolrCIIeUAxtsK1ucduZotwWlATRC2kJ2PdMgbtQfha99RP_O2CmsYQ03S-ATPUgk/s320/Ferdinand.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
If you're coming into this fractured fairy tale a little late, this series is helping to promote my entry in a contest on Brickfish. (I mentioned it in <a href="http://husbandsdeepestdesire.blogspot.com/2011/01/fracturing-fairy-tale.html">yesterday's post</a>.) The story is being posted in 700 character installments - the character limit set by the Brickfish website. The second paragraph was posted yesterday and is being replaced with <a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Pages/PhotosAlbums/PhotoView.aspx?qsi=54034713">a new installment today</a>. Check it out, vote and leave your review of how its going so far. <br />
<br />
If I win the prize, it will pay for our exodus from California back to my beloved Midwest where I can be reunited with my children and grandchildren.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Pages/PhotosAlbums/PhotoView.aspx?qsi=54008528">My photo entry</a> will be familiar to any of my readers who have browsed <a href="http://zazzle.com/heartensoul4u*">the collection of respect cards</a> on Zazzle. The greeting card from the contest photo and ancillary product line are also titled <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/chosen_card-137748354618345960?gl=heartensoul4u&rf=238989828573976344">"Chosen"</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<center><object align="middle" height="300" id="PropShell" width="300"><param name="movie" value="http://www.brickfish.com/FlashServices/GetPropSWF.frss?contentcode=3_7351490_0_103_-1_589&swfv=6&isfull=0&forlabel=0&htid=41945122-e09a-4326-a26a-3c29c0039d8c&ispreview=0&phtid=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000&pbapi=4561825&pbvi=218816157&stgw=300&stgh=300&sitedom=www.brickfish.com&autoplay=0&lcid=1033" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="WMode" value="Transparent" /><embed src="http://www.brickfish.com/FlashServices/GetPropSWF.frss?contentcode=3_7351490_0_103_-1_589&swfv=6&isfull=0&forlabel=0&htid=41945122-e09a-4326-a26a-3c29c0039d8c&ispreview=0&phtid=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000&pbapi=4561825&pbvi=218816157&stgw=300&stgh=300&sitedom=www.brickfish.com&autoplay=0&lcid=1033" quality="high" width="300" height="300" name="PropShell" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" ></embed></object></center></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Lifestyles/MyFavoritePhoto3?=EP_589&tab=1" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,Arial,Sans-Serif; font-size: 10px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">My Favorite Photo (I've Ever Taken) 3</a><br />
<a href="http://www.brickfish.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,Arial,Sans-Serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Brickfish</a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-34718480196012224322011-01-11T07:26:00.000-08:002011-01-11T07:26:05.283-08:00Fracturing the Fairy TaleFrom the time I was a young girl I loved to read. I learned to read rather young. (My father was a reading teacher.) I cannot remember many of the books that I read but I do not forget the fairy tales. I had no idea the impact those stories would have on my life.<br />
<br />
As a young girl, of course, I did not know that fairy tales were used to teach the reader principles and morals to depend upon in life. But, teach me they did. Some were helpful lessons. I think of "Hansel and Gretel" knowing to leave a trail to return home. <br />
<br />
I also remember stories like "The Princess and the Pea". What a whiney little brat she was. I became disenchanted with Princesses at about that point. I considered the many that had fallen captive to spells cast by wicked witches or slimy step-mothers. Consciously I rebelled. Being a Princess was not something to which I would aspire and it was obvious that I was not born to the title. <br />
<br />
Yet, as I grew up I did consider myself a Princess of sorts. I would be in charge someday and rule my own little corner of the kingdom called reality. I would find a handsome prince and he would break the spell that held me captive to discontent. <br />
<br />
Ah, but first I would have to find the frog that would be the Prince. <br />
<br />
Does any of this sound familiar? Did you, like me, set out to find a flawed frog because you knew you would the one woman on earth who could transform him? <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">"So? How's that workin' out for ya?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8W9lixgTaU-f7rdbVQi_rYN41w9eczZ9y0dgqMPCXiAyu-1g2xgRd-zrHF7-sv7-mI5bJcGFqj_EolrCIIeUAxtsK1ucduZotwWlATRC2kJ2PdMgbtQfha99RP_O2CmsYQ03S-ATPUgk/s1600/Ferdinand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8W9lixgTaU-f7rdbVQi_rYN41w9eczZ9y0dgqMPCXiAyu-1g2xgRd-zrHF7-sv7-mI5bJcGFqj_EolrCIIeUAxtsK1ucduZotwWlATRC2kJ2PdMgbtQfha99RP_O2CmsYQ03S-ATPUgk/s320/Ferdinand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Darn those fairy tales! I was so misguided and so misinformed that I did look for the worst possible specimens of the male gender to date and then marry. (I do not mean Bruce) <br />
<br />
Surely I was the kind of woman, a Princess really, who could change one man from an awkward slimy reptile to a dashing do-gooder on a white steed. I cannot begin to tell you how badly those choices turned out. <br />
<br />
I do not place all the blame on childhood fairy tales for my marital mistakes but I do know that they were foundational in the downfall that led to divorce. <br />
<br />
In an effort to affect the future for the better, I would like to contribute a few fairy tales of my own to the literary world - or at least to the libraries of my posterity. I think I understand where the changes need to be made. Now - I would like to write fairy tales that would train up a child in the way she should go because I finally grew up and rebuilt a more sure foundation, a foundation built on Rock. <br />
<br />
Yesterday, I began one such fairy tale that also promotes a photograph I've entered in a contest on Brickfish. (I mentioned it in <a href="http://husbandsdeepestdesire.blogspot.com/2011/01/once-upon-time.html">yesterday's post</a>.) The fairy tale to fracture foundational fairy tales will be posted in 700 character installments - the limitation set by the Brickfish website. The opening paragraph was posted yesterday and replaced with <a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Pages/PhotosAlbums/PhotoView.aspx?qsi=54008528">a new installment</a> today.<br />
<blockquote style="text-align: center;">"Chosen" </blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: center;"> (1/10/2011)</blockquote><blockquote>Once upon a time the King of the Boardwalk called for thirty eligible frogs to vie for the hand of his fair daughter, the Princess. Each frog received a number to display upon their chest. "You'd think we were running a marathon," one particularly portly frog complained to his neighbor in the pool. "This is my lucky number," another exclaimed. "I just know she'll choose me." The King arrived with the Princess. The crowd cheered but the frogs grew quiet, watching above their heads as the Princess reached her hand toward the pool. Who among them would she choose? (Cast your vote, invite your friends. The story continues tomorrow.)</blockquote><br />
To help in the dismantling of bad foundations (yours, mine or theirs), can I point out the first problem with this and many fairy tales? <br />
<br />
Since when would the Daddy of a beloved little daughter gather together the slimiest reptiles from which his daughter should choose a mate? Now really? <br />
<br />
I don't know about your father, but my dad wanted me to choose the most prestigious man to marry - well educated, hard worker, ambitious, and powerful. My dad would never have taken me to skid row to choose a man. <br />
<br />
I've already posted the next "installment" in the photo contest for today. In tomorrow's blog post, we'll discuss the first frog in the fairy tale pond, a would-be-prince named "Ferdinand" who is sure that he will be "Chosen". <br />
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</div><a href="http://www.brickfish.com/Pages/PhotosAlbums/PhotoView.aspx?qsi=54008528">My photo entry</a> will be familiar to any of my readers who have browsed <a href="http://zazzle.com/heartensoul4u*">the collection of respect cards</a> on Zazzle. The greeting card from the photo and ancillary product line are also titled <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/chosen_card-137748354618345960?gl=heartensoul4u&rf=238989828573976344">"Chosen"</a>.Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-63196175898625378732011-01-10T07:08:00.000-08:002011-01-10T07:08:21.072-08:00Once Upon a Time<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"You have to kiss a lot of frogs . . . before you find your prince." ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A young girl is held over a wading pool filled with rubber frogs. The frogs are numbered on their bellies and each number represents a tantalizing prize for the participant. This girl took a great deal of time to choose and I had plenty of time to take the shot. We were at the Famous Calaveras County Fair and Jumping Frog Jubilee in California. It is ironic that this is my favorite photo. Now, just as rats abandon a sinking ship lest they drown, I am anxious to leave California. Winning will insure our return to my beloved Midwest." </span></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Good Morning! I feel like I've been running a marathon and can only stop for a moment. So much is going on in our lives right now. It is hard to know where to begin. I surely cannot bore you with all the details in one sitting.</div></div><br />
But I have to tell this audience how impressed I am with my husband. He is not at all anxious to leave California. He is vehemently opposed to change. Yet, he trusts in the Lord and is convinced that God is directing our path. <br />
<br />
I cannot fathom the amount of faith required to set aside all of my own agenda to adopt that which the Lord requires. The scriptures are full of stories of such faith but I have never felt as if I could be so trusting. But, I know that my husband is. He amazes me.<br />
<br />
Sure, I trust that we are doing the right thing but then again I have no qualms about leaving California. I WANT to go home to the Midwest. I'll do whatever it takes to get there. <br />
<br />
One of those things was to enter a photo contest on Brickfish. The prize is $1,800 - the amount needed to move our household belongings across country! <br />
<br />
That entry has evolved tremendously in the two days since first posting. I have learned that scoring and ranking is based on the number of votes, shares, reviews and views my entry acquires. Viewers can vote once every day during the contest. (I got to vote for my own entry only once so I cannot do this alone!). <br />
<br />
I cannot simply expect you to return day after day for thirty days. I should make this worth your time and effort. I needed a way to make you want to return. <br />
<br />
So, having been awake most of the night writing the story, I will be posting installments of a Fractured Fairy Tale that will take the place of the photo's original description. <br />
<br />
There are thirty days remaining in the contest so the story will take 30 days to tell. The story begins this morning! I hope you enjoy it!<br />
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Please view, vote, share and review as you are able. I will appreciate it so much.Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-40616335453993754822011-01-05T10:33:00.000-08:002011-01-05T10:33:37.025-08:00Wives, Submit<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I have been experiencing a long season of introspection and communing with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is time to return and report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have been challenged to submit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only have I been challenged to submit to the Lord, I have been challenged to submit to my husband.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><i>Ephesians 5:22-24 (King James Version)</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><i> Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><i> For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><i> Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just how far, do you suppose, does He expect the wife to go on with this? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A couple of months ago my husband was <s>whining</s> expressing his desire for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He feels worthless unless he is working: learning new things and/or performing a service for others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It always impresses me that he is not concerned about the "almighty dollar".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He simply wants to be growing and serving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear that it is a trait shared by many men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One evening, my husband was <s>whining</s> talking to a friend at church about his need for a job that would give him more hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An opportunity to take a job as a couple, nearly 2,000 miles away, was suggested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Without the slightest hesitation I said, "YES!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When solicited, my husband said, "I'm married to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I go where she goes." </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Much has happened since then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After our hasty responses, we returned to our home and we both sought the Lord's guidance (repeatedly and often) in earnest private prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My husband went to the Lord with all of his fears and returned multiple times with the same answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"You need to move in May."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I went to the Lord with all of my anticipation and returned multiple times with the same answer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Organize yourselves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prepare every needful thing."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So a date has been set and preparations are underway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am still unemployed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband is still extremely under-employed (3 hours per week at Target).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We will need approximately $3,000 to make the move.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have set about reducing the size of our household and making some money by selling our excess on eBay and Amazon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I look at the total sum value of the items I am selling, the goal will not be met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But, I have faith in the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did not tell me to make $3,000.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me to organize and prepare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each day I fight back the demons that taunt and tease me about the futility of my efforts.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My husband has faith in the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fifteen years of coping with severely diminished short-term memory (post-stroke) has taught my husband one overarching fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is simplified by constancy and crazy-chaotic in change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Change frightens him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each day he fights back the demons that taunt and torment him with fear of change and facing the unknown.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two months later, the job is tentative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A long shot, actually.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The move is definite.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When our friends ask us why are we moving we could logically explain the move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our rent, alone, will be $600 less than what we pay now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The overall cost of living is greatly reduced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My unemployment checks will follow me there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband's disability checks will follow him there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if we do not have a job or cannot find a job, this income will cover our expenses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are jobs there for which we are skilled and few competitors within the tiny community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our post-stroke conditions, the slower pace will be a welcome change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be closer to family including my grandchildren. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are many logical reasons to move to Small Town, Mid-America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But, to be honest, none of them are The Reason.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When my husband prays, God answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be foolish to ignore the instruction provided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">How many wives rely on, count on, or lean on their husband for spiritual leadership?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm suggesting that we all do, to some degree or another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also suggest that we can always improve our behavior in that regard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is important to remember that it is not up to our husbands to prove their selves in the leadership role.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is a position given to husbands by God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God did not ask that they prove themselves worthy before He appointed them to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is up to us, as wives, to honor and sustain them in that position. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i> Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zazzle.com/red_roof_card-137258442610024610?rf=238989828573976344"><img alt="Red Roof card" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/red_roof_card-p137258442610024610v1qr_325.jpg" style="border: 0;" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.zazzle.com/red_roof_card-137258442610024610?rf=238989828573976344">Red Roof</a> by <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/heartensoul4u*">Your Husband's Deepest Desire</a></div><br />
<!--EndFragment-->Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-17473047173195587882010-12-24T14:54:00.000-08:002010-12-24T18:31:43.162-08:00Appreciation Is Essential<div class="MsoNormal">It has been a tough economic year in the Cohen household. I was laid off in April and Bruce's hours were cut from 40 to 3 per week. Meager would define Christmas 2010. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But, we are both "grownups" and able to handle those little disappointments. We could live without all the ribbons, without all the tags. We could live without packages, boxes or bags.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, the truth. I was depressed. Terribly. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I avoided decorating for Christmas until I just couldn't take it any more. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs213.ash2/47597_475431718537_631108537_5641669_278887_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs213.ash2/47597_475431718537_631108537_5641669_278887_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Little by little I brought things out of storage. But I would not put up the 7-foot artificial tree this year. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Too much trouble," I told my husband. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Silently, though, I had already decided. "Such a big tree should not overshadow the limited number of presents to lay beneath it." And the darker thought, farther back in the dark recesses of my mind, was whether there would be anything at all to open on Christmas morning. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But then a few small gifts began to arrive from our family and friends out of town. My spirits were brightened but I did not believe I needed a tree. I justified myself. My mother has had Christmas for decades without a tree and she enjoys her holidays quite fine. I decided that I had reached "that age".</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then, God inspired some very special people and we were blessed by their generosity. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With the cash we had received, Bruce set out on his own to buy his wife a Christmas present. He left the house for the 9:30am bus on Christmas Eve Eve. Two days to go and he was going to shop.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Please, let it suffice to tell you that this is new for him. He is a convert from Judaism, suffering from a communication disorder post-stroke. Shopping for presents is not something he does without great stress and fear. He has gone out each Christmas since our marriage in 2005 with his mother-in-law or another friend in tow. It has been a "huge dot deal" to overcome his fears about the whole ordeal. And it is so touching to watch him try.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yet, this year he decided to tackle the task alone. Whether that was truly a free choice or a circumstance, I do not know. But he left early and shopped. He came home hours later with a large plastic bag from Pier One Imports (good sign) and stood staring at the empty space where the Christmas tree should be.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"I don't know what to do." His face was so forlorn. He had learned that presents go under the tree but where do they go when there is no tree?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"You can hide them." I suggested a few hiding places but he was not convinced that hiding them was the right idea. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJctJ88DpyCC43YTWl1cUNdBDrTXTgqzr0i8AsIjnbiB5rVXsdvz5_DhmMIhiuerYDGQizDLA0K48y9q77eWH6wZGaaf5xFVB7XSTQryf5m2of27jP8bHFIsDil4K0OSvsB0YpomIiT5p/s1600/My+elf+gift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJctJ88DpyCC43YTWl1cUNdBDrTXTgqzr0i8AsIjnbiB5rVXsdvz5_DhmMIhiuerYDGQizDLA0K48y9q77eWH6wZGaaf5xFVB7XSTQryf5m2of27jP8bHFIsDil4K0OSvsB0YpomIiT5p/s200/My+elf+gift.jpg" width="144" /></a>He finally agreed, trying to hide the disappointment on his face. I could put them in the steamer trunk with the other packages we'd received from out of town. He was satisfied with the solution but he was not pleased.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I got into the trunk this morning to hide the gifts I had purchased for him, I could not help but notice that the Pier One Imports bag held gift-bagged-and-tissue-concealed presents. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wrapped? For me!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1R8VhCfvUo1lBKQR18ruG71yAbM96-p6mYI0CnpcH3BkWAVVtnGwvZqjBRH9PrARzNrTgbGs_mmn4_QezkvmIpTWdM25KenVK4v0QJn7OUtOyX8RaHiRfH2suMjZQRG7q6d3TOES_EmW/s1600/Reindeer+present.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1R8VhCfvUo1lBKQR18ruG71yAbM96-p6mYI0CnpcH3BkWAVVtnGwvZqjBRH9PrARzNrTgbGs_mmn4_QezkvmIpTWdM25KenVK4v0QJn7OUtOyX8RaHiRfH2suMjZQRG7q6d3TOES_EmW/s200/Reindeer+present.jpg" width="120" /></a>He had handled the wrapping and presentation himself. This was bigger than big. It was grander than grand. This was every wife's Christmas dream wrapped up and handed to little old me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This was the kind of moment that deserved a monumental display of appreciation. My one-handed-man had conquered gift-wrapping! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It almost made me cry. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, I did cry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He had conquered wrapping and I had hidden his efforts away in the trunk. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I devised a plan.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When Bruce left again this morning to meet his new "sponsee" at an AA meeting, I went immediately to work. Three hours later I had finished.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think his gifts deserve to be showcased beneath the Christmas tree. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Don't you think?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1aPWzDGvDysGYXbcOOotTFdMC2LRAK71Z20xT4bos-guDR57AUr_e-ah9XV_-q8P0C6ZVFSACZMV_DjdyxrT8y9FwY2vgWnD3ba4-2mKzL7VSpIBgwI3JOevhBC2UpwVinZDCr9l_0qT/s1600/Da+Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1aPWzDGvDysGYXbcOOotTFdMC2LRAK71Z20xT4bos-guDR57AUr_e-ah9XV_-q8P0C6ZVFSACZMV_DjdyxrT8y9FwY2vgWnD3ba4-2mKzL7VSpIBgwI3JOevhBC2UpwVinZDCr9l_0qT/s400/Da+Tree.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEityuN9YxrNaP4U1A8cjW0Aom9m5G5B3TSNYZgAHQKzrdmWDwl5vb6xjWwECVxg77jgSBb4qoSfZmjYa16TJWB8ezr691cxiNnMBYy2a8-OmNn_2yJF_2HYNWu3faMK0CEP8ZjIxqoZiCDm/s1600/Winder+wonderland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEityuN9YxrNaP4U1A8cjW0Aom9m5G5B3TSNYZgAHQKzrdmWDwl5vb6xjWwECVxg77jgSBb4qoSfZmjYa16TJWB8ezr691cxiNnMBYy2a8-OmNn_2yJF_2HYNWu3faMK0CEP8ZjIxqoZiCDm/s400/Winder+wonderland.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Merry Christmas everyone! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I testify that Jesus lives and loves each of us. He is aware of every circumstance and mindful of every need. I have been poignantly reminded of that fact - once again. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div><o:p><br />
</o:p></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-18177668772330417312010-12-09T08:29:00.000-08:002010-12-09T08:29:26.678-08:00Whose Birthday Is It Anyway?<a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs009.snc1/2871_71852018537_631108537_1555588_969996_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs009.snc1/2871_71852018537_631108537_1555588_969996_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs009.snc1/2871_71852018537_631108537_1555588_969996_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I shared a Christmas message on my other blogs and hope you don't mind me posting it here as well. I believe the message bears repeating.<br />
<br />
I heard the retelling of a significant story while I was at a meeting last night. I will try to do it justice here.<br />
<br />
<br />
The woman tells a story of a wonderful family event that occurred this past year. Her father turned 80 years old and the family gathered to celebrate.<br />
<br />
My grandfather was also honored in similar fashion many years ago. I was unable to attend, being so many miles away. But I was included in the planning and outpouring of love.<br />
<br />
It is wonderful to honor the life and contribution of people we love late in their lives. But I digress. Let's return to the story being told at the meeting last night.<br />
<br />
The teller of the tale then asked the audience to imagine the preparations for her Grandfather's birthday. It was shaping up to be quite a celebration.<br />
<br />
She spoke of the preparations and the planning, the assignments and the purchasing, the scrubbing, the cleaning and the polishing. The flurry and the frenzy of frantic activity continued for weeks. <br />
<br />
And then, the big day came. All was ready. The decorations were spectacular. Incredible smells from an elaborate feast wafted from the kitchen.<br />
<br />
The guests poured through the doors and the gifts piled higher and higher at the front of the room. What an incredible celebration!<br />
<br />
But then, the teller of the tale added a twist. She paused, looking slowly around the faces in the room and asked . . .<br />
<br />
What if the guests began to pass the gifts around amongst themselves?<br />
<br />
What if they brought presents for everyone except Grandfather?<br />
<br />
And, what if Grandfather wasn't even in the room? <br />
<br />
What if no one remembered to invite him?<br />
<br />
What if everyone had lost sight of him? <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Christmas commemorates Christ's birth. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Has He received His invitation to your celebration?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Have you decided on your gift for Him?</b></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-592560286706398802010-12-01T11:43:00.000-08:002010-12-01T11:43:00.513-08:00ReemergenceI am so grateful to return. Did you miss me?<br />
<br />
I have spent the month of November (all of it) writing the first draft of a promised manuscript. It is tentatively titled <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/656401">"Made Perfect In Weakness"</a>. It is the story (fictionalized) of my husband's and my "courtship". <br />
<br />
During the process, I enjoyed recalling the tender mercies of God in the miracle that is our relationship. I have spent one month trying to recapture and then convey each precious moment in words. <br />
<br />
While writing the book I relied heavily on the audio files that my husband created when he communicated via email. (If you're late coming into our story - my husband lost the ability to read and write due to a massive stroke he suffered before we met.) <br />
<br />
One of the MP3 files that took my breath away made its way into the book in a prominent place. <br />
<br />
The recording was made in response to gospel principle questions asked by a teacher from church, named "Chris". My husband was to ponder each question and respond in a voice recording that he would then send via email. (What a wonderful tool that was for him!) <br />
<br />
I share this recording with you today as a way of honoring my husband and our Savior. It is a reminder to me of the calling I have received to be a help meet to my husband, to be his companion and to stand proudly at his right hand.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="28" width="335"><param value="http://www.divshare.com/flash/audio_embed?data=YTo2OntzOjU6ImFwaUlkIjtzOjE6IjQiO3M6NjoiZmlsZUlkIjtpOjEzMzg0MjE3O3M6NDoiY29kZSI7czoxMjoiMTMzODQyMTctZTRhIjtzOjY6InVzZXJJZCI7aToyMDI4MzIwO3M6MTI6ImV4dGVybmFsQ2FsbCI7aToxO3M6NDoidGltZSI7aToxMjkxMjMwNDUzO30=&autoplay=default" name="movie"> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"> <param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"> <param name="wmode" value="transparent"> <embed wmode="transparent" height="28" width="335" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" src="http://www.divshare.com/flash/audio_embed?data=YTo2OntzOjU6ImFwaUlkIjtzOjE6IjQiO3M6NjoiZmlsZUlkIjtpOjEzMzg0MjE3O3M6NDoiY29kZSI7czoxMjoiMTMzODQyMTctZTRhIjtzOjY6InVzZXJJZCI7aToyMDI4MzIwO3M6MTI6ImV4dGVybmFsQ2FsbCI7aToxO3M6NDoidGltZSI7aToxMjkxMjMwNDUzO30=&autoplay=default"></embed></object></div><br />
<br />
When I listen to that testimony, I am amazed. Why? Because it represents an incredible miracle.<br />
<br />
My husband was born into a Jewish household, raised without knowledge of his Savior. He wandered far from all things right and good until he had damaged his soul so terribly that he nearly died from the effects of his addictions. <br />
<br />
He knows and declares that the massive stroke was a gift from God. The stroke brought him to his knees and humbled him. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6I4WHF2IMvatupn6GC04xmM5fjYumXOjiG2_VVm22fwMHN80vpTuBHzHpbyaT30rT-XHZFySCb5qhkKZkv95EGw9_qg2KoS0yyMjoGfuVqv2yW48up9Fd1jjxYblPfh_eZLD_VoHtuwG/s1600/twitter+avatar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6I4WHF2IMvatupn6GC04xmM5fjYumXOjiG2_VVm22fwMHN80vpTuBHzHpbyaT30rT-XHZFySCb5qhkKZkv95EGw9_qg2KoS0yyMjoGfuVqv2yW48up9Fd1jjxYblPfh_eZLD_VoHtuwG/s200/twitter+avatar.jpg" width="200" /></a>And in his coma and after, Christ came to him and loved him and taught him until one day, one incredibly special day, the Lord asked me to help in His efforts. All He asked of me is that I honor and respect this broken man. <br />
<br />
Jesus knew that with the companionship of a woman willing to honor him, my husband could thrive and grow to be more like his Savior. <br />
<br />
Our relationship - our marriage - is not different than any other marriage. <br />
<br />
God has asked that the wife honor her husband (Ephesians 5:33). <br />
<br />
I suggest (based on experience) that a husband who is honored, will give glory to God. <br />
<br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;"><br />
</div></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-44646930215210302182010-11-20T10:42:00.000-08:002010-11-20T12:02:02.598-08:00Life, Lemons and Giving ThanksI would suppose that you've heard the phrase, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade". <br />
<br />
I would rather say, "When life gives you lemons, give thanks." <br />
<br />
The Lord is doing a mighty work with my life. When I received a layoff notice last February, I was frightened out of my wits. It took a few days to recover my sensibilities. And then, after allowing myself to suffer, I chose to thank God.<br />
<br />
Silly me, at first I thought that He had forsaken me. But I know that I know better.<br />
<br />
I know that all things work for the good of those who believe in Him. Call it finding the silver lining, call it mixed blessings, call it making lemonade from lemons - it all means the same. God is orchestrating the events of life so that each individual is afforded their greatest chance for happiness. <br />
<br />
The individual is me. The individual is you. God is in control and He desires our individual happiness. Not at the expense of others or in spite of others. Moreover, God is able to provide the best route to happiness for each individual. To think otherwise would be to deny that our God is a loving god. It would also mean denying the scope, power and ability of God. <br />
<br />
Ponder the idea: God wants me to be happy. The world and all that happens within it is designed to bring me pure joy. Why then do I revolt against the growing pains? Why do I cry out in terror or anger? Why am I so ungrateful when I am chastised or tried?<br />
<br />
When I have been grateful for the trials and tribulations of life in the past year, I have been abundantly blessed. God's love is immeasurable and incomprehensible. Remember the poem "<a href="http://www.footprints-inthe-sand.com/index.php?page=Main.php">Footprints in the Sand</a>" poem by Mary Stevenson? I can retrace my past footprints and see how He has strengthened me, carried me and blessed me. <br />
<br />
I have spent only a few moments browsing the postings and messages in my archives for the year. I am so humbled by the vision afforded in hindsight. <br />
<br />
Before Thanksgiving, I highly recommend that you do the same. I challenge you to look back and trace your own footprints of this past year. Browse the emails you've sent and received, the year of activity on your Facebook wall or the archived messages. Review the year in whatever tangible way is available to you. This year has been God's gift for you. Turn around for a moment, retrace your steps and unwrap your gift.<br />
<br />
As I write this I could not help but think of the dozens and dozens of people who have shared their lives with me this year. I have been so blessed by your efforts. There have been hundreds of people who have come into my life - many have stayed to enrich my days. You have given me opportunities I would never have had in the workplace; chances to give and receive, to love and to laugh, to falter, to achieve. <br />
<br />
I could not have done any of it without you. <br />
<br />
You have been the hands, the heart, and the soothing whispers of God in my life this year. I wish for you a season of gratitude and joy!<br />
<br />
Happy Thanksgiving!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMp-TJAWQD0952KSWifp0F7i0glHZCFEEb6l9gaX0bvrpBhEzYU5ayCP8p32cZugRhW0kwL8pNh1E322hD3idiTUmiiiu1GSuZSB2HIVA9Y9Ts5Utsp8Vkgc02ObaGVCN5Il3lNt91jA/s1600/Giving+Thanks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMp-TJAWQD0952KSWifp0F7i0glHZCFEEb6l9gaX0bvrpBhEzYU5ayCP8p32cZugRhW0kwL8pNh1E322hD3idiTUmiiiu1GSuZSB2HIVA9Y9Ts5Utsp8Vkgc02ObaGVCN5Il3lNt91jA/s400/Giving+Thanks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Life, Lemons and Giving Thanks</td></tr>
</tbody></table><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=bythesefruits-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0027DS6GI&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&tag=bythesefruits-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&search-alias=aps&field-keywords=Footprints%20in%20the%20Sand" target="_blank">Search Amazon.com for Footprints in the Sand</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=bythesefruits-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_a.png?x-id=1fb5bfee-a2f4-412d-ae74-7314a0cfabe8" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-32624416512340691642010-11-10T10:08:00.000-08:002010-11-10T10:08:12.964-08:00Wordless Wednesday<div style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zazzle.com/prince_charming_ornament-175655764345719712"><img alt="Prince Charming ornament" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/prince_charming_ornament-p175655764345719712vxgz5_325.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" /></a></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-45886250919939582432010-11-03T11:08:00.000-07:002010-11-03T11:11:48.236-07:00Word Count WednesdayAs I've mentioned (didn't I?), I am participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I am finally writing the book that so many people have encouraged me to write. I have titled it, "Made Perfect In Weakness".<br />
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The printed and ebook editions will more than likely contain a disclaimer to this effect:<br />
<blockquote><i>"Though based on a real life story, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, organizations or companies, living or dead, is purely coincidental."</i></blockquote>Many details have to be fabricated because, in many regards, I really do not know the "real story". In most cases I don't even know the real people, the real places, and the real history of events leading up the time period in which the story takes place. I am fabricating the details that I do not know.<br />
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I am, however, attempting to portray the very real emotions and events that unfolded as my husband and I dated, fell in love and married. That very real part of the story transpired over the course of sixty four days.<br />
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Fortunately for me, the necessary fabrications and filling in of the blanks renders "Made Perfect In Weakness" a work of fiction, which is good, because these are the rules to "win" NaNoWriMo:<br />
<blockquote><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">The rules state that, to be an official NaNoWriMo winner, you must…</div><ul style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><li style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Write a 50,000-word (or longer!) novel, between November 1 and November 30.</li>
<li style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Start from scratch. None of your own previously written prose can be included in your NaNoWriMo draft (though outlines, character sketches, and research are all fine, as are citations from other people's works).</li>
<li style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Write a <i>novel</i>. We define a novel as a lengthy work of fiction. If you consider the book you're writing a novel, we consider it a novel too!</li>
<li style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Be the sole author of your novel. Apart from those citations mentioned two bullet-points up.</li>
<li style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Write more than one word repeated 50,000 times.</li>
<li style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Upload your novel for word-count validation to our site between November 25 and November 30.</li>
</ul></blockquote>If you are interested in following my progress, feel free to check <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/656401">my NaNoWriMo profile</a>. Here are the stats for this stage of the project:<br />
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<center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px;"><img src="http://www.nanowrimo.org/widget/LiveSupporter/656401.png" /></span></center><br />
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To pique the interest of my readers, here is an exclusive first draft of the first page!<br />
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<blockquote><div class="MsoNormal"><i>"No Public Restrooms! It couldn't be more obvious if I lit it up in neon." </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>The restaurant owner mumbled under his breath as he wiped down the counter and straightened the toothpick dispenser. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>George Levine was rushing past him to the bus stop and barely paused to say goodbye to the man at the cash register. It might have escaped his throat as little more than a grunt but he thought it had been a sufficient acknowledgement. He surely didn't notice when the man shook his head at George's departing backside.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>The bells jangled, the glass shook and the hand painted sign wobbled as the door closed behind the man clumsily staggering as he made his way out the second door. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>The owner wasn't truly angry. Every so often the man rushing out the door would stay and buy breakfast. "Even then, he's a lousy tipper." The owner muttered to himself as he headed back to the kitchen. Once again, he had avoided confronting the man about using the restroom without buying something from the menu.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>George Levine was the disappearing figure of a man determined. His awkward gait as he hurried to catch the next bus caused him to weave from side to side across the parking lot. In his rush, he began to topple into a sharp turn at the end of the drive. Somehow remaining upright he rushed along the edge of the sidewalk to the intersection. He was oblivious to the traffic rushing by, mere inches from his left hand that he swung at his side in a wide arch, as if propelling himself forward. With his head bowed to the ground he appeared be travelling headlong into the light pole and the crosswalk request button. He stopped just short of disaster and looked up, a little.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>His right hand was drawn up to his chest in a fist, as if ready to throw a punch. He muttered to himself and began smacking the crosswalk request button with his left hand. Palm flat and fingers straight out, he pounded the button, demanding an immediate response. He breathed rapidly and deeply as if he had sprinted to the corner. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Traffic finally stopped and the walk sign began to blink and chirp like a bird. George started forward, nearly stumbling over his own feet, into the crosswalk. His attempt to move quickly accentuated the disability in his right leg. The red hand lit up, rapidly blinking and then stopped before George ever reached the centerline. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>An anxious driver began to inch forward for a right hand turn across George's path. It only served to stop George dead in his tracks. He stared straight at the driver and began to raise his right fist while his left hand shot forward as if he had the strength of a super hero to stop the oncoming car. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;"><i>"What are you doing?" He yelled at the driver who mouthed an apology through the windshield. Infuriated and sent off balance, George continued across the street. </i> </span> </blockquote>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-68864644285985199742010-11-01T00:01:00.000-07:002010-11-01T00:01:02.410-07:00Every Time I Think Of YouOne year for my birthday, when I was far away from family and very despondent, my mother sent a card with a scripture that I have never forgotten - the card or the scripture. <br />
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I know that what the card said, what the scripture said, is exactly what my mother thinks of me. It meant more to me than I ever let on. I've kept it all these years. I hope my children will keep it, along with a copy of this post, so my grandchildren will know how important is to tell people that they matter. It is especially important to thank God for the people in our lives. That lesson was the gift that I received from that card. <br />
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In honor of that card, I created the first of this year's Thanksgiving Cards for husbands. <br />
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When I count blessings, at Thanksgiving and always, I count relationships first. So, first off, I am grateful for my relationship with my Savior. I remember what life is like without Him. I am very grateful that He would rescue "a soul so rebellious and proud as mine".<br />
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Then I count, as my second great blessing, the relationship with my husband. I also know what life is like without him. I am grateful for the happiness he has brought into my world. It is for him that I created this card. Feel free to share it with your beloved husband as well. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://rlv.zcache.com/isapi/designall.dll?action=realview&pdt=card&pending=false&pid=137830659567678668&rvtype=product&view=front&max_dim=1000&bg=0xffffff&square_it=true&draw_relative_size=true&type=greetingcard&orientation=vert&side_01=front_vert&side_03=inside2_vert&side_04=back_vert&drawareaboundingbox=false&drawsafearea=false" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/isapi/designall.dll?action=realview&pdt=card&pending=false&pid=137830659567678668&rvtype=product&view=front&max_dim=1000&bg=0xffffff&square_it=true&draw_relative_size=true&type=greetingcard&orientation=vert&side_01=front_vert&side_03=inside2_vert&side_04=back_vert&drawareaboundingbox=false&drawsafearea=false" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://rlv.zcache.com/isapi/designall.dll?action=realview&pdt=card&pending=false&pid=137830659567678668&rvtype=product&view=inside2&max_dim=1000&bg=0xffffff&square_it=true&draw_relative_size=true&type=greetingcard&orientation=vert&side_01=front_vert&side_03=inside2_vert&side_04=back_vert&drawareaboundingbox=false&drawsafearea=false" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/isapi/designall.dll?action=realview&pdt=card&pending=false&pid=137830659567678668&rvtype=product&view=inside2&max_dim=1000&bg=0xffffff&square_it=true&draw_relative_size=true&type=greetingcard&orientation=vert&side_01=front_vert&side_03=inside2_vert&side_04=back_vert&drawareaboundingbox=false&drawsafearea=false" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://www.zazzle.com/every_time_i_think_of_you_card-137830659567678668?rf=238989828573976344">Every Time I Think of You </a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Philippians 1:3</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">My plans for November?</div><div style="text-align: left;">50,000 words in 30 days!</div><div style="text-align: left;">November 1 - November 30</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-7048890476307753872010-10-29T15:59:00.000-07:002010-10-29T15:59:20.990-07:00I'm Thinking ThanksgivingI have a very full November ahead of me. <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/656401">I've entered the NaNoWriMo project. </a><br />
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I've committed to writing a 50,000 word novel in one month beginning Monday. I suspect that the project will inhibit my participation in the blogosphere. <br />
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I am not making apologies for my anticipated absence - because this is the book I've known I would write since the day my husband first gave me his phone number and asked me to call him.<br />
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It will be a fictionalized account of our romance. Why fictionalize it? Because his stroke damaged his short term memory. I cannot trust the accuracy of his details. The only way I can share the story is to fabricate the details from his life.<br />
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Before I go -<br />
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I wanted to add a few Thanksgiving Cards to the store at <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/heartensoul4u/gifts?cg=196912164063607605">Your Husband's Deepest Desire</a>. <br />
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I'm really excited about this new collection. These new cards can be customized. If you've wanted to add your husband's name or if you need to remove the "Happy Thanksgiving" reference, you are free to do that. The basic sentiment is locked in. So, if you need a special request, don't hesitate to let me know. Your requests are more important than the book.<br />
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Enjoy this preview of the New Thanksgiving Cards:<br />
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<center><embed flashvars="feedId=117426606069115845" height="300" src="http://www.zazzle.com/utl/getpanel?zp=117426606069115845" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="450" wmode="transparent"></embed><br />
</center>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-91205006180865174482010-10-27T09:57:00.000-07:002010-10-27T09:57:18.133-07:00Equally Yoked<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdsipoWY4lRDZmCQ-GWNbnXZEXPiq85oaxLE9ew7krQXvru2v-2GaJdu-blbr5vjKQ7EB9tnXMiFPYGkBic7GKbgSdne96aVXv_NrtWe_fSRnPFwZ2QDtSQjQ7Y42b0CALSPkDs1qVAvm/s1600/equally+yoked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdsipoWY4lRDZmCQ-GWNbnXZEXPiq85oaxLE9ew7krQXvru2v-2GaJdu-blbr5vjKQ7EB9tnXMiFPYGkBic7GKbgSdne96aVXv_NrtWe_fSRnPFwZ2QDtSQjQ7Y42b0CALSPkDs1qVAvm/s400/equally+yoked.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sutter's Fort, Sacramento, CA</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1 Peter 3</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-KJV-30426" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">1 </sup>Likewise, ye wives,</div><div style="text-align: center;">be in subjection to your own husbands;</div><div style="text-align: center;">that, if any obey not the word,</div><div style="text-align: center;">they also may without the word</div><div style="text-align: center;">be won by the conversation of the wives;</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-KJV-30427" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">2 </sup>While they behold your chaste conversation</div><div style="text-align: center;">coupled with fear.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-KJV-30428" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">3 </sup>Whose adorning let it not be</div><div style="text-align: center;">that outward adorning of plaiting the hair,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel;</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-KJV-30429" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">4 </sup>But let it be the hidden man of the heart,</div><div style="text-align: center;">in that which is not corruptible,</div><div style="text-align: center;">even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,</div><div style="text-align: center;">which is in the sight of God of great price.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-KJV-30430" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">5 </sup>For after this manner in the old time</div><div style="text-align: center;">the holy women also, who trusted in God,</div><div style="text-align: center;">adorned themselves,</div><div style="text-align: center;">being in subjection unto their own husbands:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <sup class="versenum" id="en-KJV-30431" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">6 </sup>Even as Sara obeyed Abraham,</div><div style="text-align: center;">calling him lord:</div><div style="text-align: center;">whose daughters ye are,</div><div style="text-align: center;">as long as ye do well,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and are not afraid with any amazement.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Linked with</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=51320&type=basic">Word Filled Wednesday (WFW)</a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://internetcafedevotions.com/">Internet Cafe Devotions</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">There are very few </em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">rules,</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"> in fac</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">t the b</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">eauty</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"> of th</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">is ministry i</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">s the c</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">reative expression that God reveals Him</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">self thorough. We marvel at<strong style="font-weight: bold;"> </strong>the creativity that participants post with this meme. We encourage the ” post behind the picture,” or the reflections that many of the participants share. We ask that non-biblical resources not be used.</em><br />
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</em></div><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">WFW <strong style="font-weight: bold;">is not</strong> about books, authors, artists.. it’s about God and <strong style="font-weight: bold;">HIS WORD ONLY</strong>. WFW is about celebrating the gift of creativity th</em><em style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;">rough God’s Word.</em><br />
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</div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-73404848987630815402010-10-25T14:01:00.000-07:002010-10-25T16:13:15.689-07:00Time for Tender MomentsI've changed this title a few times now. "Taking Time for Tender Moments" or "Making Time for Tender Moments". It is more than a simple exchange of the first character. It is determined by a change in circumstance.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQK0q3_y0nGJ-jr5O7iTevNNU6nspVvBGXdcnbrOhqEerVj-trYdI6_-yvo9l4TbCraglU72wSrXXd0WfZyVJKr2B2oPfJ-1AcxtPSL5ldhECr0eBgt6W46h9NNPjZ9Lj2PuuOo7UoJs/s320/leaves2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQK0q3_y0nGJ-jr5O7iTevNNU6nspVvBGXdcnbrOhqEerVj-trYdI6_-yvo9l4TbCraglU72wSrXXd0WfZyVJKr2B2oPfJ-1AcxtPSL5ldhECr0eBgt6W46h9NNPjZ9Lj2PuuOo7UoJs/s320/leaves2.jpg" /></a></div>When the nest is full and activities fill the calendar, families must <u>take</u> time for tender moments. <br />
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Like my little family back home, in Indiana. From chores to camping, the tender moments are taken and memories are made.<br />
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Leaf raking, Christmas tree farming, hiking, camping and all the activity that four small bodies can handle!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhc7HG6jeM0vYYu0eEuVTYmO-Numl03EyjpM6-kdVTN0d6ObH35vm5g5s47z-8cdOLcmcnRt8e-hbx0jVkUB230aOF1uTXT8WZATGw2Kvvso3NgMwlY3AkIU6gLvRIG-0Qto3ZlqdAzU/s320/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhc7HG6jeM0vYYu0eEuVTYmO-Numl03EyjpM6-kdVTN0d6ObH35vm5g5s47z-8cdOLcmcnRt8e-hbx0jVkUB230aOF1uTXT8WZATGw2Kvvso3NgMwlY3AkIU6gLvRIG-0Qto3ZlqdAzU/s200/bridge.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgssqRJlw1YS-2f81J3AJraE3j4DT_-wnkU1n8YYOWIRXlZKdmHgtdwY5l_o81G7baUu4jSMsBZ3Bd56SXh5812TeD0M6O3gBbxQB1fFdLPD-Yh42ios2zsv5imYPf91wIb6jGFjCQ7U/s320/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgssqRJlw1YS-2f81J3AJraE3j4DT_-wnkU1n8YYOWIRXlZKdmHgtdwY5l_o81G7baUu4jSMsBZ3Bd56SXh5812TeD0M6O3gBbxQB1fFdLPD-Yh42ios2zsv5imYPf91wIb6jGFjCQ7U/s200/6.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
When the nest is empty and we have options about how we fill the void, we can choose to <u>make</u> time for tender moments.<br />
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Tonight is Family Night in my house. Where two people define the family. <br />
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Bruce and I will prepare dinner - together.<br />
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Send Celia on her nightly hunt and give her a bone (to brush her teeth) while we enjoy our meal.<br />
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Then, tonight, we'll <u>make</u> some time for his studies.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnew3Ww4LblaKV9ZSsNfjIRvlm2a87imcAz03gDTv8Jr-kijb5nlxbPvZD65AUHwE3ASqotIJAOLiX21yRJSL6nHAAwSI38lztpEGQQyNZCZZ9a9J77VwipTmJFmseiA7Ng1xCLl9WHnWl/s1600/table+top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnew3Ww4LblaKV9ZSsNfjIRvlm2a87imcAz03gDTv8Jr-kijb5nlxbPvZD65AUHwE3ASqotIJAOLiX21yRJSL6nHAAwSI38lztpEGQQyNZCZZ9a9J77VwipTmJFmseiA7Ng1xCLl9WHnWl/s320/table+top.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>My husband started school last week. He is anxious to relearn reading and writing (lost due to stroke). This is his umpteenth attempt. He has aphasia. <br />
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But, he wants to do what "they" say he cannot do. He has Thank You notes to write. <br />
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There is nothing more tender than setting aside the hustle, the bustle, the tensions and the demands of a day to encourage my husband.<br />
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These are tender and trusting moments that are difficult to articulate, even for me. <br />
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I'm linking up with Courtney and others, at Women Living Well. We're rising to a challenge to <a href="http://womenlivingwell-courtney.blogspot.com/2010/10/giving-your-children-happy-childhood.html">Make Our Homes a Haven</a>.<br />
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P.S. I just have to tell you how incredible the baking gingerbread cookies smell right now. Simply heavenly.</td></tr>
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</div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-61131779173258533842010-10-25T08:47:00.000-07:002010-10-25T09:12:19.119-07:00Thank God for Icky Stuff<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">The challenge, issued by Branch of Wisdom, is to spend one month counting blessings.<br />
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This was to begin yesterday, the 24th of October, and will end on "Thanksgiving Eve", the 24th of November. Participants are challenged to write Thanksgiving posts at least 15 times during that period.<br />
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This is my first post for this challenge and it is a doozy!</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">I take a big breath and let it out slowly before beginning this task because I challenge you to read with an open mind and willing heart.<br />
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I was introduced to a new form of thanks giving a few years ago. In a nutshell, I was challenged to give thanks and praise God for the trials in my life. <br />
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That's right.<br />
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I was challenged to thank God for the blessing of trials, struggles, grief, pain, difficulties, or "the icky stuff".<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Follow me to my other blog, Hearten Soul, and <a href="http://heartensoul4u.blogspot.com/2010/10/thank-god-for-icky-stuff.html">continue reading</a>!</b></div><div><br />
</div></div></div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1778851601993894910.post-20701554090815576412010-10-23T18:06:00.000-07:002010-10-25T06:52:59.359-07:00Back in TimeI went to an estate sale yesterday; my first estate sale. There is much to tell of the experience. I am forced to share in small chunks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://focus.aps.org/files/focus/v23/st18/time_tunnel_250_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://focus.aps.org/files/focus/v23/st18/time_tunnel_250_1.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://heartensoul4u.blogspot.com/2010/10/and-time-is.html">And TIme Is</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>The house sits at the end of our street on about one acre of land. That is serious real estate for a major city. The house is a huge rambling ranch made of adobe. <br />
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I knew nothing of the former owners until stepping through the Time Tunnel at the door. <br />
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The owners of the home had obviously lived and loved in the house from the beginning of marriage until her death later in life. The husband continued to live there until his recent death.<br />
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The house was then occupied by their son, surrounded by the original furnishings and all of the "stuff" that his parents had cherished.<br />
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I learned much from the items for sale. He was in the medical or science field. A skeleton hung in the corner and anatomy books filled a bookcase. <br />
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After retirement he decided to be a writer. He wanted to write about American hotels in the 19th and 20th centuries. Boxes and boxes of postcards attested to extensive research on the subject.<br />
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The wife kept collections of books as well but not a romance novel in the bunch. She had an incredible library of gardening books, decorating books, cooking books, home repairs and improvement books and homemaking books.<br />
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(I've never seen so many books in one home since leaving my father's home many years ago.)<br />
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The wife also cherished collections. There were beautiful antique doll collections displayed in various rooms. What impressed me was the fact that she collected antique dolls. They were antiques when she was alive.<br />
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In the kitchen, still in use, stands an aged gas stove piped through the wall and up through the roof. I cannot remember when I last saw one of those up close. All of her linens were set in one room. There was nothing in the collection newer than the early 70s. I recognized most patterns as from my own childhood.<br />
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As I said, I saw much to write about. But, for the purpose of this blog about respecting our husbands I should tell you of the purchase that I did make. I must mention that I did not plan on buying anything. I'm unemployed and my checks stop this week. This is not a good time to buy anything non-essential.<br />
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But I could not resist a booklet titled "Happy Marriage" from the "Amy Vanderbilt Success Program for Women" copyright 1965. The older guy at the register cracked up when he saw it.<br />
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"Happy Marriage? Is there such a thing?" He was not joking.<br />
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I laughed and said that it was a goal of mine to improve the possibilities of happiness in marriage and I had started a new home business to that end. One of the estate sales employees asked, "What business?".<br />
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"Its called <i>Your Husband's Deepest Desire," </i><br />
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<i></i>That brought a guffaw from two of them. But the woman behind me asked the obvious question.<br />
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"SO? What is a husband's deepest desire?"<br />
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"He desires respect," I answered. She appeared puzzled. <br />
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"So? How do you do <u>that</u>? Respect them, I mean? Like what if they're yelling at you about something?"<br />
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I told her that if that were the case she should not respond. I gestured the "zipping of my lips". <br />
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"Ah, if I don't talk, he can't win!" She was serious.<br />
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I had to choose my words carefully. Mr. Guffaw was still seated behind me and Ms. Young Impressionable was sitting behind the register.<br />
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"Marriage isn't a game. Nobody wins unless both win. Nobody loses unless both lose. To play at marriage as if it were a competitive sport is not a marriage at all. It is a losing proposition." <br />
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I gave her a business card and headed home to enjoy my new book!<br />
<blockquote>From Amy Vanderbilt in 1965:</blockquote><blockquote><i>It is a difficult, demanding world in which we live, and more is expected of wives than ever before - domesticity of course, intelligence, grace, charm, perspicacity, understanding, empathy, control, imagination, realism and practicality.</i></blockquote><blockquote><i>And yet the goal of a happy marriage for a woman differs little form that out-lined in the Book of Proverbs beginning, "A virtuous woman who can find? Her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband trusteth in her . . . she doeth him good and not evil . . . She looketh well to the ways of her household, kneadeth not the bread of idleness . . . Her children rise up, and call her blessed, her husband also . . . "</i></blockquote>My scanner is not working so I was not able to obtain an image of the booklet cover, but, the covers of the other books in the series are too charming not to share. Check them out on <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/charmandpoise/sets/72157600037226586/show/">this Flickr slideshow </a>from Charm and Poise.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">~</div>Sharon Cohenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00888969860359917900noreply@blogger.com0