tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9449586707661295572024-03-12T22:15:49.035-05:00Just Another RagamuffinCarolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.comBlogger177125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-81764961593564614542013-10-22T08:09:00.000-05:002013-10-22T08:09:40.114-05:00Textures and Smells<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes I see little old ladies with grey hair wearing the same kinds of clothes Mom used to wear and I get transported to random moments of being with her. I see her slightly-stooped posture. I smell her favorite perfume (Cotillion by Avon), and I feel her hand reaching for mine – for steadiness or for affection, it doesn’t matter which. </div>
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I never was one to want to wear my mother’s clothes, at least not the polyester pants with the elastic waistbands. There were one or two of her blouses that I might try to commandeer, but it never felt right for me to utilize her wardrobe. It was the stuff of mom-ness, and I was just a child. For so many years, I have been just her child. Now that I have been catapulted into the realm of raising grandchildren that I inherited through my husband, I have skipped typical motherhood altogether and have to navigate the combined realm of parenting and grandparenting the same children all at once. I am often at a loss for how to proceed through this new maze I’ve wandered into, but slipping on a pair of Mom’s socks or one of her hand-painted t-shirts or sweatshirts can somehow make me feel like I know where I am going. She would probably laugh at that, because she did not believe that <i>things</i> held any power. Maybe the only power in it is God using those textures to jog the memories of times when I saw Mom model the loving ways of caring for others. </div>
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I wish opening a bottle of Mom’s old perfume or brushing up against some fine polyester would bring her voice back with answers to any one of my current problems. For now, just know that if you see me asking a little old lady for a hug or inhaling deeply when one walks by, I am not stalking. I am <i>remembering</i>.</div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-88645921348531207882013-05-25T17:05:00.000-05:002013-05-25T17:05:00.027-05:00Bound and Gagged<div style="text-align: justify;">
It started with a phone call. Bad things had happened and more were coming. We rushed to be rescuers, but the damage was done. Life as we knew it was gone. </div>
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The changes were huge and came at me quickly. I, who had so much solitude, suddenly was surrounded by others and had no place to hide. I, who was not a mother, was all of the sudden called to mother many. I, who had as a professional helped others through crisis, was suddenly in the middle of crisis. As much as I was prepared to help others through trauma, my own trauma left me feeling adrift. </div>
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And almost immediately I lost my voice. There were no words to write. I could not even form an idea, much less find the words to express it. I used to lay my heart bare on a page and then share it with those travelers who stopped by. Now there was almost too much to share, but I had no voice. </div>
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Had I even still had my voice, it could not be my own anymore. Every one of my words would have a profound effect on those who now wholly depended on me for safety and support. My story was no longer my own. The story of one had become the story of many. There was no way to separate any of us out from the plot line. </div>
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How would I use a voice if I had one? The very ones that I must speak for are also the ones for whom I must also be silent. How would I use my voice for them if it came back? I cannot begin to imagine it.</div>
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There are some who view this as a necessary season of silence. Necessary or not, I feel bound and gagged. I wonder when this season will change. How will I recognize it? Will it start with a phone call? </div>
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Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-35820165701961692292013-04-29T14:25:00.000-05:002013-04-29T14:25:04.649-05:00Post #200<div style="text-align: justify;">
I thought I would never have a family. I would end up living alone, except for a pack of little yappy dogs running around my ankles. I would talk back to the television just to have some company. Junk mail would be welcome just because at least somebody out there knew I was alive, at one point anyway. I would have to remind people of my name, because I was so utterly forgettable. There would be no help in time of need unless it was paid for. </div>
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The only part I got right was the pack of yappy dogs. Instead of my low expectations I have...</div>
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...little arms that reach out to hug me...eyes that light up when I walk into a room...voices saying, "I love you" and "I'm glad I have you in my life"...beautiful cards that come in the mail...and boxes of toilet paper anonymously delivered to my house every month...</div>
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And now every time I wipe my butt I feel amazingly loved by my God and His people. I never knew that God could show up in the <i><b>most common</b></i> everyday things. How awesome.</div>
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<a href="http://bibledude.net/wonderstruck/" target="_blank">Linking up</a> with people who live wonderstruck in the everyday.</div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-41811728811621817242012-12-12T13:22:00.001-06:002013-01-22T19:30:10.940-06:00Getting Lippy<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." </b>Hebrews 13:2 </div>
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The other night our family was reading from Luke 1, where the birth of John the Baptist is foretold. The passage says that John’s parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth, were “righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly.” Yet when Gabriel, <b><i>who stands in the presence of God</i></b>, tells Zechariah that he will become a father, Zechariah questions him. A man who is seen as righteous in the sight of God back-talks one of God’s angels. That takes <i>real</i> chutzpah. </div>
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I could not get that out of my mind. A priest who was burning incense in the temple getting lippy with an angel. My first thought was that Zechariah should have known better. He had been trained to be reverent. Why would he do such a thing? </div>
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And then God moved His hand over my eyes. Things got a little bit clearer and a voice in my head said, “Haven’t you done such a thing?” What if I have been unaware of being in the presence of an angel? What if I – a woman who is surely unrighteous save for the cleansing blood of Christ – have been in the presence of one of God’s messengers and have been sarcastic, rude, snippy, indifferent, willful, or faithless? Just the thought of some my arrogant behavior made me want to crawl under the table and hide. Who has been watching this? Who have I been getting lippy with? </div>
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The thought of my past behavior in plain sight of God was quite sobering. I have a feeling that I will be much more compassionate towards Zechariah the next time I read Luke 1. I surely cannot cast the first stone. </div>
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<i><b>Have you entertained an angel? If one appeared to you now, would you believe what he told you? Would you question him like Zechariah?</b></i></div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-17977952694844607052012-10-18T12:23:00.000-05:002012-10-18T12:23:59.775-05:00Incidentals<div style="text-align: justify;">
So here we are again. It has been so long since we shared this space together. So much has changed. There are so many things I should have told you, but the words have slipped through my fingers. </div>
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I, who have never been a mother, have been told to mother four children. However, I am supposed to always keep in mind that I am not their mother. Being without a mother myself, I am often at a loss when I find myself needing motherly advice about mothering. I need to know how to keep from smothering. </div>
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I don’t hear God, but I know He is there. This could be a comfortable, companionable silence or it could be something else…</div>
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My new favorite new phrase is "fractured intentions" (from Still by Lauren Winner). <b>What is your favorite new thing?</b></div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-42389914983651306382012-06-04T16:37:00.000-05:002012-06-04T22:37:12.181-05:00A Bad Country Song<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">Many moons ago, I had a college Speech professor who made everyone in the class answer a "question of the day" before we could move on to that day's lecture/activities. I always thought that hearing all of the different answers was fairly interesting.</span></div>
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The only question I remember after all this time is, "If you had to write a love song, what would you call it?". I don't remember the other answers, even though I recall most of us thinking that the married couple in our class got kind of mushy. However, I do remember my answer. </div>
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My love song would be entitled, "<i>Romance In A Blender</i>". I do not have a way of explaining that now. You just had to be part of my life at that time to "get it". I never specified whether the song would be rock-n-roll, pop, rap, etc. I just knew the name.</div>
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For the sake of any small children around, I will not go into specifics on how my life after college began to resemble a very bad country/western song. In so many ways, I was the woman who did some poor ol' cowboy wrong. My redemption song would not be sung for a very long time, even though I had accepted Christ into my life as a young girl. </div>
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I don't actually remember what triggered these memories today, but as I was thinking about it all, I wondered what the current title for a song about my life might be. This is what I came up with: "<i>Some Families Are Blended, But We're Pureed</i>". </div>
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<b>Do you have a song title that would describe part of your life? Please do share.</b></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over </span><a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/06/i-dont-play-that-way-and-soli-deo.html" style="color: #26333f; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">here</a><span style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/06/i-dont-play-that-way-and-soli-deo.html"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2IE_LNX1U/TwxH6jAGHXI/AAAAAAAAA9o/TM07xCfznFo/s200/soli+deo+gloria.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a></h2>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-87996721755921790512012-05-25T17:02:00.001-05:002012-05-25T17:02:49.537-05:00We Need A Hoot!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Many of you know that my husband and I have a very, very full house right now. For the uninitiated, we have my father, our youngest son, my sister, and my brother-in-law filling up all of our rooms. There are also ten dogs involved (we run two separate packs and never the twain shall meet). </div>
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This is, of course, the type of situation that requires creativity and humor to survive. So far, God has blessed abundantly with both. I pray that He continues to do so.</div>
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A little ritual that my sister and I have developed to keep a positive, humorous outlook is giving our household new "mottoes". When we first all converged together and were trying to develop a workable family dynamic, our motto was simply, "Go team!". Whenever one of us did something helpful for the rest of the group, my sister and I would throw up our hands and yell, "Go team!"</div>
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Some mottoes have been so fleeting that I don't remember them. However, I do remember that we say, "that should be our motto" quite a lot. The day my sister was telling me about a show she and her husband watched about dumb criminals, our motto was "brilliance abounds". Imagine us saying that with plenty of sarcasm.</div>
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Today I was telling my sister - who has still not found gainful employment - about a job listing on Craigslist that seems to be a good match for her Human Resources background. The job happens to be in the music industry (which as the wife of a former DJ, she really loves). She looked at me and used that tried-and-true Southernism: "Wouldn't that be a hoot?" My answer was, "Yes, and we could use a hoot right now!". So for the next few hours, at least, our motto is, "We could use a hoot!". </div>
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I desperately hope that God is listening. I do not know why His plan seems to include our whole family's finances becoming more and more precarious. While a job in the music industry would definitely be a "hoot", at this point a job in plastic-mushroom farming would be a "hoot" for several of us. We aren't trying to get rich. We just want to pay all of the bills. </div>
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So if you think about it, please lift us up in prayer. All you have to tell God is that my family needs a hoot. He'll get the joke. </div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-24598916672135541222012-05-16T17:44:00.002-05:002012-05-17T08:10:58.707-05:00My Soundtrack<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since I was very young I have watched musicals - plays and movies. I have sung along with the Seven Dwarfs, The Bee Gees, Kenny Loggins, The Beach Boys, and The Smiths. ("You've Gotta Get A Gimmick" from Gypsy just started playing in my head. Oops.) For a very long time, I hoped that when I finally "arrived" in life that my very own soundtrack would start playing for everyone to hear. So far, the music is only in my head. </div>
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Music is really the only poetry that I consistently like, and I find a certain type of quirkiness in the parts of the verse that stick with me. Most of my favorite songs are mainstream, because I have never put forth effort to go find the independent and lesser-known artists. I was angst-ridden enough as a teenager that you would think I would have raged against anything mainstream and "conformist", but I didn't. I was lazy, so I just took what came across my path and collected up the parts that caught my fancy. </div>
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As I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate more the warnings I received as youngster about being careful with what ideas I put into my head. There are things that I will never be able to un-see, un-hear, un-smell, or un-feel. I cannot ever completely undo the damage. The music I listen to falls under that warning, doesn't it?</div>
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Even as I have been sitting here typing, a friend has sent me a daily email that she subscribes to. The title for today's email is "Sing A New Song". Here is an excerpt:<br />
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What are you speaking; what are you singing? Are you singing songs of self-pity, gloom and doom or songs of joy, peace and love? The choice is yours. Speak out to others in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, offering praise with your voice and making melody with all your heart to the Lord (Eph. 5:19) You begin by loving the Lord your God. Choose to be joyful in him and be in high spirits. If you are feeling down, if circumstances are holding you in depression, if you are in the midst of a trial choose to sing a new song to the Lord, and your feelings will be lifted, and you can go on your way holding your head high because the joy of the Lord is your strength. Praise goes before victory!</blockquote>
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I will freely admit that I do not always follow that advice. There are many things that I feel - dark, melancholy emotions - that I do not find expressed in Christian music. I'm not saying that it isn't there. There are heavy metal and rap Christian artists that might have expressed some of these things, but in my laziness, I have not gone looking. It's much easier for me to listen to songs link "<a href="http://www.elyrics.net/read/k/korn-lyrics/coming-undone-lyrics.html" target="_blank">Coming Undone</a>" by Korn. That song captures the complete inner chaos I experienced right after Mama died. But if "as a man thinketh, so is he", what am I doing to my heart by listening to music like that? What if my inner soundtrack is hurting me?</div>
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<b>What is your inner soundtrack? Do you make a conscious effort to control what you are listening to?</b></div>
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<div style="background-color: #fff9e9; color: #3f230d; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: #fff9e9; color: #3f230d; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over </span><a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/05/what-if-its-not-end-of-world-and-soli.html" style="background-color: #fff9e9; color: #26333f; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-decoration: none;">here</a><span style="background-color: #fff9e9; color: #3f230d; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/05/what-if-its-not-end-of-world-and-soli.html"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2IE_LNX1U/TwxH6jAGHXI/AAAAAAAAA9o/TM07xCfznFo/s200/soli+deo+gloria.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-3462148237333644072012-05-07T19:00:00.000-05:002012-05-10T14:44:56.250-05:00A High Class of Problems<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Many years ago, someone said to me, "I have a higher class of problems these days." I did not immediately understand that comment. I was very sure at that time that my problems were dreadful and dire. What could be worse than the fact that <i><b>I</b></i> was suffering? What a melodramatic diva I was...</div>
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Today, I do understand that I have a higher class of problems. I have learned to be more grateful for what I have. I have come to understand that many people have far worse problems than I and that I should show them compassion and help when I can. Even so, I end up stressing out and loosing all sense of proportion sometimes. For example:</div>
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*Myself and several family members have found ourselves unemployed or under-employed. We are all squeezed together in one house trying to weather the storm safely. What do I end up stressing about? Whether I should use the green purse or the red purse (I picked red, in case any other divas care).</div>
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*My "adopted" son in Rwanda (sponsored through <a href="http://www.compassion.com/" target="_blank">Compassion</a>) has no way to refrigerate his food. What do I end up stressing about? The grocery store did not have my brand of yogurt and this other brand "tastes funny". (We have two refrigerators, by the way.)</div>
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* I worry about having to get rid of our <i>extra</i> car. I worry about having to wear sandals without a pedicure. I worry about not having money to buy more books when I have about 50 of them sitting here that I still haven't read. </div>
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Yes, I have a high class of problems. Lord, deliver me from myself before I hurt someone with my whirling mass of ingratitude.</div>
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Thoughts, anyone?</div>
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***</div>
<br />Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over <a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/05/when-you-have-to-try-again-and-soli-deo.html">here</a>. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/05/when-you-have-to-try-again-and-soli-deo.html"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2IE_LNX1U/TwxH6jAGHXI/AAAAAAAAA9o/TM07xCfznFo/s200/soli+deo+gloria.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-9845656829056914292012-05-03T14:32:00.000-05:002012-05-03T14:33:27.765-05:00My Anorexic Blog<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am hungry for words. Ravenous. But I won't let myself have them. And so my poor little blog is starving to death. </div>
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What would happen if I would just allow myself those words? Would my blog be too "fat" or "heavy"? Would it not look as lean and healthy as other blogs? What if my words do not look as good as some others? Would it matter to anyone but me that I somehow failed in the comparison? Does it matter?</div>
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And so my "art" imitates my life and becomes disordered... maybe there is some clinical diagnosis for not allowing yourself to write. Or maybe I am just thinking too hard.</div>
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Poor little starving blog. You need some words.</div>
<br />
<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-17351516051110913782012-04-12T20:48:00.001-05:002012-05-10T14:46:02.029-05:00Truth<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't have any earth-shaking original thoughts tonight. I just have something I want to share. </div>
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I went on a cleaning spree this afternoon (the closet looks fabulous) and of course I found things that were laying there waiting for some attention. One of these things was a quote that I had printed out. It turns out it is actually a quote of one man quoting another (that really does make sense - I promise). It is a profound bit of writing, so I thought I would share it with you.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
"Truth, like all the other pieces of armor, is in actuality an aspect of the nature of God himself. Thus to put on the belt of truth is to put on Christ. For Christ is 'truth' (John 14:6), and Christians are the bearers of truth. As Os Guinness explains, Christianity is not true because it works (pragmatism); it is not true because it feels right (subjectivism); it is not true because it's 'my truth' (relativism). It is true because it is anchored in the person of Christ. 'The Christian faith is not true because it works; it works because it is true. It is not true because we experience it; we experience it - deeply and gloriously - because it is true. It is not simply "true for us"; it is true for any who seek in order to find, because truth is true even if nobody believes it, and falsehood is false even if everybody believes it. That is why truth does not yield to opinion, fashion, numbers, office, or sincerity - it is simply true and that is the end of it.'"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
-- <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Covering-Gods-Plan-Protect/dp/0849917557" target="_blank">The Covering: God's Plan to Protect You From Evil</a> by <a href="http://www.equip.org/PDF/DC665.pdf" target="_blank">Hank Hanegraaff</a></blockquote>
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I'm hoping my proofreader will tell me that I have all of my quote marks correct on that one (' vs. "). Either way, I just really liked that quote. It makes life simple, which is how I'm sure God wanted it in the first place. No need to complicate things with trying to add to, subtract from, or outright change the truth. It is <i>The Truth</i>. Beautiful simplicity that I need to observe more often.</div>
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Blessings to all of you.</div>
<br />***<br /><br /><div>
Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over <a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/04/irrational-thoughts-small-groups-and.html">here</a>. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2012/04/irrational-thoughts-small-groups-and.html"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2IE_LNX1U/TwxH6jAGHXI/AAAAAAAAA9o/TM07xCfznFo/s200/soli+deo+gloria.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a></div>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-44280544480373086152012-04-09T14:19:00.001-05:002012-04-12T20:50:29.774-05:00Being A Good Blogger<div style="text-align: justify;">When I started blogging about a year ago, I knew why God had me writing. I knew that He was holding me accountable for the lessons I was learning. My few readers were, in effect, my accountability partners. God was teaching me about mercy in all types of situations, and I was willing to share those lessons with anyone who had the time and motivation to read what I wrote. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As I wrote about what I was learning, there were moments of joy, sadness, fear, and sometimes humor. I was in the midst of grief, and I shared that too. A small group of friends - some old and some new - encouraged me with comments and emails, and they shared their journeys with me as well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Somewhere in the journey, though, I got distracted. I visited many blogging communities and was swept up in their enthusiasm for writing and their love of words. I read many types of advice on blogging: </div><blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">use bullet points; don't use bullet points; keep it short; write in a journalistic format; DON'T USE ALL CAPS; write poetry; don't use too many complex sentences; have giveaways; comment on other blogs so you can get more comments on your own; belong to this or that blogging group; use other peoples' link buttons on your posts; write from your heart; don't disclose so much about yourself; go to conferences where there is a lot of talking; blah blah blah; find a quiet space; read this book before you blog any more; care about what e-books are doing to the traditional publishing industry; don't overuse semicolons; know what your readers want; engage your readers with questions; use bold type for your important points; eat bacon-fried bacon on Tuesdays; add photographs to your posts; add YOUR OWN photographs to your posts; write about being a child sponsor; tout this cause; participate in this project; be a minimalist so that readers can fill in the gaps with their own imaginations; be wordy so that the reader has a sense of exactly what you mean; my head is exploding and I haven't even covered half of the blogging advice I've gotten...</blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;">Wow. That is a lot to take in, especially when you are the new kid on the block. I got so caught up in trying to figure it all out that I started feeling guilty for not doing it all. The guilt made me unable to even start typing. Thinking about being a "good" writer/blogger actually made me into nothing at all. I felt advised to the point of muteness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't know if I am a good enough writer/photographer/artist/fill-in-the-blank to do all of those suggested things. I don't know what my readers want and I don't even always know what I want. I've already got so many books to read that I don't have room for them all in my house. I don't know if I want to follow all of this blogging advice and be a part of all of these projects. So does that mean I'm a bad blogger? Does that mean I'm not a "real" writer? Does it matter? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I just don't know. I don't even know if I have the energy to find out. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let me tell you what I do know. God wants me to get up and go out and have a life. Sometimes just the getting up and going out is so hard that I lay paralyzed with fear while tears run down my face. God wants me to write about that. The times that I actually get out and participate in life, I learn so much about God, His love, His mercy, and myself that it just blows my mind. He wants me to write about that too. Sometimes God gently disciplines me to keep me from pursuing a path of destruction. He especially wants me to write about that. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here is what I intend to do:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><ul><li>I will write long, wordy posts about what God is teaching me.</li>
<li>I will write about the humor God shows me in life.</li>
<li>I might have a few more giveaways because they are fun and I really like fun.</li>
<li>I will be kind to any commenters I might have.</li>
<li>I will not beat myself up for not keeping up with 35 other blogs.</li>
<li>I will not keep up with the state of the publishing industry.</li>
<li>I will not let anyone but God dictate my subject matter.</li>
<li>I might USE ALL CAPS IF I'M FEELING STRONGLY ABOUT SOMETHING</li>
<li>I will enjoy the blessings of sitting in my cozy little corner writing for God.</li>
</ul><div><span style="text-align: justify;">Does any of this make me a good or bad blogger? I don't know, but here I am.</span></div><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-60736102214741075112012-04-08T06:00:00.001-05:002012-04-08T06:00:09.266-05:00He Is Risen!<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Segoe Script","sans-serif"; font-size: 72.0pt; line-height: 115%;">INDEED!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Happy Easter!</div><br />
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-20742591157742353882012-02-20T20:51:00.001-06:002012-05-10T14:54:17.951-05:00Honor Thy Father<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honour thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth. And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Ephesians 6:1-4</i></blockquote>
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I have struggled with deep, dark depressions for most of my life. Since my early years, I have been melancholy and had a hard time functioning at the same level as my peers. This means that, as an adult, I have often been living with my parents rather than on my own. I suppose having a roommate would have helped, but I never trusted anyone else enough to let them see the effects of the depression. In fact, letting my husband see the effects of my current depression fills me with shame and guilt. The only person I ever truly trusted to see me at my worst and still love me was Mama. </div>
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Needing to be around Mama so much putting me in Daddy's orbit just as often. Living in his home came with the understanding that he could behave any way he wanted and I could like it or leave. Any rule he made was law. Any commentary he wanted to offer on my life was to be taken meekly. Any angry outbursts on his part were to be endured without fighting back. </div>
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Seeing as this is a blog and not a book, I do not have time/space to explain to you why Daddy has always seen me as an opponent. Just know that it is true, and has been acknowledged by others close to us. Having to face an opponent when you are at your worst can never be a good thing. It never was for me. </div>
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One interesting trait of my father's is that he talks to himself about whatever is on his mind. When he takes out his hearing aids, he talks to himself LOUDLY. This has unfortunately allowed me to hear him say some rather vile things about me in the past. And no, he really did not know I was listening.</div>
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The last few years have not been as bad. When I asked Mama and Daddy to move up to Austin with me, the dynamics changed a little. Having them come live with me instead of me coming back to them was a new situation. When I got married, Charles was totally willing to keep them in our home. He saw just as I did that they were both slowing down in their elder years and could use the help. I will never regret this, as it means that we were right there when Mama got sick and needed us. Daddy could not have handled that situation all on his own, so it was good that we were all together.</div>
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Since Mama died, Daddy and I have had to help each other more than ever before. We lost our "buffer" and have had to find our way together. For several months, I thought we were on a new path. Then in November the "old" Daddy showed back up and let me know that he still held me in some contempt. Charles almost asked Daddy to leave at that point, but we have persevered through it all til now.</div>
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Saturday morning, my father moved out of my house. We knew he was going, as we had helped him pack his belongings the night before. Usually, if Daddy is leaving early in the morning, he will tell me goodbye the night before or knock on my door in the wee hours and give me a hug. This time he left without telling me goodbye at all. He called me later to instruct me on some legal matters, but he did not mention leaving, having lived in my house these past five years, or anything sentimental. Just "do this".<br />
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Where did he go? He went to live in the house of his "first love". Her husband died two months after Mama passed. Daddy did not take the sentimental things that he had wanted in previous months to remind him of Mama. He just left them in his room for me to pack up. He did take Mama's prized possession - an oil painting of roses that my mother painted years ago - so that he can give it to his "first love". He made sure that I knew about that.<br />
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Part of me thought Daddy should have to stay here and be punished for the emotional abuse I have suffered over the years. Another part of me wanted for him to go quickly. There is another part of me that feels guilt for feeling ambivalence about Daddy because it makes my sister - who loves him dearly - uncomfortable and I hate making her feel like that. Then there is the little girl in me who so desperately wants to be "enough" to please her father. The feelings just toss and turn inside of me. This is not a situation I would wish on anyone.<br />
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So my question for the ages is this: <b><i>How do I honor my father after he has provoked me to wrath?</i></b> Paul did not leave any clues as to how that works. Maybe there were some children in the Ephesian church who had dealt with this type of thing. I desperately wish that they had left some tips and pointers behind for stumbling, bumbling daughters like me. </div>
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<b>Do you have a situation in your life that keeps you tossing around in the wind? Is there a Bible verse that addresses part of it but not all of it? How do you deal with that?</b><br />
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***</div>
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Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over <a href="http://findingheaventoday.blogspot.com/2012/02/silent-auction-running-race-soli-deo.html">here</a>. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://findingheaventoday.blogspot.com/2012/02/silent-auction-running-race-soli-deo.html"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2IE_LNX1U/TwxH6jAGHXI/AAAAAAAAA9o/TM07xCfznFo/s200/soli+deo+gloria.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a></div>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-44915771798034984442012-02-14T07:35:00.000-06:002012-02-14T07:35:25.926-06:00Celebrating Love<div style="text-align: justify;">Today is our first Valentine's Day without Mama. This time last year we were taking stuffed toys and sugar-free chocolates up to the nursing home she was in. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I know that Valentine's Day is supposed to be for celebrating romantic love, but Mama celebrated all kinds of love every February 14th. She sent cards to her grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She made us heart-shaped bologna sandwiches for our lunch. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The biggest (and strangest) gift I ever got from Mama on Valentine's Day was an electric typewriter my senior year in high school. I think she meant to get it for me so that I could have it for college (Daddy sold office supplies, so she got it cheap), but it came in in early February, so instead of waiting for graduation, I got it February 14th. I was getting ready for school when she walked in to my room with a huge brown box and said, "Happy Valentine's Day". I think I was even happier about such a nice gift just because it was given on a day that my Mama really loved to celebrate. The kids my age were not all that impressed, but my shorthand teacher was jealous. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This morning, every family member currently staying in my house (husband, father, sister, brother-in-law, and son) got a card I had picked out for them weeks ago. I got a really lovely card from my husband (and a promise of a date tonight). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've shed a tear or two over Mama not being here, but I am glad she taught me to celebrate the love God gives us for each other - not just on February 14th, but on every day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hope that you all are celebrating the wonder of love today. I'm sorry that I did not get a card for every kid in our class, but I'll say it here: Happy Valentine's Day from me to you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-3795236967664340002012-01-29T09:49:00.000-06:002012-01-29T09:49:41.013-06:00I Heard It From Lou Gramm<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #20124d;">I used follow</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #20124d;">Yeah, that's true</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #20124d;">But my following days are over</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #20124d;">Now I just gotta follow through</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #20124d;">-Lou Gramm, <i>Midnight Blue</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Following people has never worked. Trying to follow their prescribed scripts has almost killed me - literally. There is only One that I need to follow, and that definitely needs some follow-through.</div><br />
<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-89212273180916798982012-01-28T08:35:00.000-06:002012-01-28T08:35:05.617-06:00Electric Moments<div style="text-align: justify;">Have you ever been shocked? Literally, I mean. You've dragged your feet across the carpet and when you touch the person next to you, you both feel a pop of electric current. Or you think that your 110-volt converter actually works in the 220-volt socket, but it doesn't - then you touch the appliance you've plugged in and begin to understand what a "charged moment" really is. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I wonder sometimes if I have had those types of physically jarring instances in order to be able to identify and feebly try to explain overwhelming emotional events.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Life is just full of shocking moments...moments so full of intense emotion that I can recall them with clarity and a jolt of electricity if I see something that reminds me of them. And the reminders could be anything. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It could be seeing a new cupcake store that reminds me of my mother who used to bake cupcakes to celebrate my puppies' birthdays. And then all of the sudden I feel my body swaying and I hear that same buzzing in my ears that I heard as I was told that my mother was not going to live but for a few more days. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It could be seeing a beautiful piece of Native American art that reminds me of my friend's amazingly talented husband who used to make wooden flutes. And then I feel my body somehow sinking through the floor like it did when I was told he was dead after a very brief, unexpected illness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It could be seeing a group of young men playing basketball down the street that reminds me of the children in my life. And then I feel the rigidity that gripped my body as I read the email telling me that my friend's sixteen-year-old son had died after his battle with cancer. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It could be seeing a cute photograph of children that reminds me of how I was as a youngster. And then I see a photograph of me actually standing in the very room where I was molested all those many years ago and I feel...I feel...well, there is really no appropriate description or adjective for that complex feeling.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With all of these reminders, I feel. There really is no "deflector shield" that will protect me from these unexpected moments. My body is snapping and popping with current from just typing that list. It is as if there is a complete circuit of electricity running between me and my computer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I found an old piece of my writing yesterday that reminded me that I have never had...what is it? the talent? skill? education? I'm not sure, but I have never had some mystical quality that would allow me to convey to you the depth, breadth, or exact nature of these shocking feelings. I just know that there is electricity involved.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Hoping that your electric moments are less intense.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-61274425170675732392012-01-15T12:02:00.000-06:002012-05-10T14:47:36.874-05:00Desde el Monte... Find A Husband<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Previous installations of Desde el Monte...</div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/10/desde-el-monte.html">Preface</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/10/desde-el-monte.html">The Beginning</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/10/desde-el-monte.html">Joy Bus</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/10/desde-el-monte.html">The Streets</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/11/desde-el-monte-beauty.html">The Beauty</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/11/desde-el-monte-prayer-and-poem.html">Prayer (and a Poem)</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/12/desde-el-monte-culture.html">The Culture</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2011/12/desde-el-monte-violin.html">The Violin</a></div>
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<a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/2012/01/desde-el-monte-philosophy.html">Philosophy</a></div>
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***</div>
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I had thought about just mentioning this couple in another post, but this story deserves a place of its own. </div>
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Meet my friends Eduardo and Estela: </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OVufzYbsZsY/TxMDFsDfz5I/AAAAAAAAA98/ZdHxcnWgFl8/s1600/EduardoEstela.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OVufzYbsZsY/TxMDFsDfz5I/AAAAAAAAA98/ZdHxcnWgFl8/s400/EduardoEstela.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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This lovely married couple was so nice to me while I was in Montevideo. I had come down to wintery Uruguay from the beginning of a hot Lubbock summer and managed to get a cold. It really was just the sniffles, but somehow Eduardo and Estela found out and brought me all kinds of medicines and comforts. That is how we actually met.</div>
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I saw Eduardo and Estela frequently over the last half of the trip. They spoke English, so we were able to have some lovely conversations. If I remember correctly, they were about the same age as me, so we had commonalities in our lives. They completely accepted me into their hearts and I was humbled by that unconditional love.</div>
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When it came time for me to leave Uruguay, our hearts were pained by the thought of parting. Estela begged me to stay in Montevideo, but I told her that I had to go back to Lubbock to do my internship and finish my Social Work degree. Estela said, "Then come back when you graduate. You can be a Social Worker here in Uruguay." Eduardo stood next to her saying, "Yes! Yes!". And then Estela said the funniest thing. She said, "We will even find you a husband!". </div>
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I do not know if I looked like I needed a husband or if the Church of Christ get-married-and-have-babies bug had already infected the El Chana congregation. Either way, it cracked me up. I even considered it for a moment. I had not been very successful in relationships up to that point, so I wondered if having a husband that I could not fight with (because we did not even speak the same language) would be a good idea. He and I would only be able to look at each other and smile and nod, right? No fussing, no fighting, no break-ups. </div>
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Seriously, my heart was so touched that Estela and Eduardo would want to take such good care of me. I ache that we live so far away from each other. I would love for them to meet the husband that God gave me. I know they would love him. </div>
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That is the hard part of mission trips. You leave a huge chunk of your heart behind. There are many people in the El Chana congregation that kept a piece of me. Estela and Eduardo Baldaccini seem to have a big piece.</div>
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***</div>
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<span style="background-color: #ddf7fa; color: #3f230d; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Tune in again next Sunday for another installment of Desde el Monte... (from the mountain). </span> <br />
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-7136877963791525672012-01-13T08:35:00.000-06:002012-01-13T08:35:51.929-06:00Somebody That I Used To Know<div style="text-align: justify;">As people are getting settled into the new year, learning to write/type 2012 instead of 2011, and catching up with friends they hadn't seen over the holidays, I have noticed something that should be odd. I say "should" because it is familiar and wholly unsurprising to me, but my friends find it odd.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My friends have been talking about their holiday family gatherings. They mention seeing extended family. I hear about the traditions that they have been keeping since before they had memories. I have seen photos of several generations of a family gathered in a house you would not think could hold that many people. I have heard about my Northern friends' snowy encounters and my Southern friends' warmer pastimes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What seems odd to some of my friends is that I heard from almost none of my "close" family. A stark difference from when we, along with many members of our extended family, used to make a big deal out of Christmas. We even had a tradition of going to the Christmas Eve gathering of the whole community. This year there were very "close" family members that did not call, write, or text me. And to be fair, I did not call, write, or text them either. There just isn't much connection there anymore, except for faint, poignant memories of what seems like a different lifetime of a different person.<br />
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I have struggled to find words to describe this phenomenon until a day or two ago. I was driving around between appointments. I turned on the radio and caught the very end of a song I had never heard before. It struck me immediately that this song said something about my life. The radio DJ said the name of the artist and song, but I only caught part of the song title. While I was at the next stoplight, I wrote it down so that I could remember to look it up later.<br />
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That scribble of a partial song title written in pink ink got me where I needed to go. The internet yielded the name of the artist, the title of the song, the lyrics, and the official video. I listened and read the lyrics along to the music over and over and over. And I realized that while the song is actually about the breakup of a romantic relationship, it says several things that are pertinent to the state of my family relationships.<br />
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Finally! Finally someone had given me the words I needed to describe what has happened to me and some of my family members. How powerful that feels to be able to identify and own a huge chunk of my life. No more pretense - just the way it is.<br />
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For context, I'll give you all of the lyrics, but I the phrases I have turned blue are the ones that mean something to me and my family situation. This is "Somebody That I Used To Know" by Gotye. (video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a>)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Now and then I think of when we were together</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Like when you said you felt so happy you could die</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Told myself that you were right for me</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But felt so lonely in your company</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But that was love and it's an ache I still remember</span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Like resignation to the end</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Always the end</span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">So when we found that we could not make sense</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Well you said that we would still be friends</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over</span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But you didn't have to cut me off</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Make out like it never happened</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And that we were nothing</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And I don't even need your love</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But you treat me like a stranger</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And that feels so rough</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">You didn't have to stoop so low</span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Have your friends collect your records</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And then change your number</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I guess that I don't need that though</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><b>Now you're just somebody that I used to know</b></span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But had me believing it was always something that I'd done</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And I don't wanna live that way</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Reading into every word you say</span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">You said that you could let it go </span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know...</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But you didn't have to cut me off</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Make out like it never happened</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And that we were nothing</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And I don't even need your love</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">But you treat me like a stranger</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And that feels so rough</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">You didn't have to stoop so low</span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Have your friends collect your records</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And then change your number</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I guess that I don't need that though</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><b>Now you're just somebody that I used to know</b></span></span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I used to know</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">That I used to know</span><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: #ebebeb; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: #ebebeb; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">Somebody...</span></span> </blockquote></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Words. Someone has finally given me the words. Yes, it is sad that my family has come to this pass. But it is so freeing to be able to tell you about it. It is so freeing to not have to pretend anymore that there is something between us. I can live my life honestly and without fear. That is like a belated Christmas present in itself.<br />
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They once were my family, but now they're just "<i>somebody that I used to know</i>".<br />
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Thanks, Gotye.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-80422532437763910682012-01-11T06:35:00.003-06:002012-05-10T14:48:20.881-05:00Second Chance Wednesdays - Part 16<div style="text-align: justify;">
Welcome back to Second Chance Wednesdays! It is once again time to turn to the <a href="http://www.potsc.com/">People of the Second Chance</a>'s poster series, <a href="http://www.potsc.com/neverbeyond/more-than-your-mistakes/">Never Beyond</a><a href="http://www.potsc.com/neverbeyond/neverbeyond-animal-behavior/">.</a> If you are new to this campaign, you can read more about it and find links to all of my Never Beyond posts <a href="http://whoivealwaysbeen.blogspot.com/p/never-beyond.html">here</a>.</div>
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I am sure that there are times when you have thought you needed or wanted a second chance. Have you ever asked for one, though?</div>
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In 2011, I asked for a second chance in a situation where I had made some grave mistakes. Considering how much grief the original situation caused me, I was prepared to be devastated if the answer was "no". The other person involved did not give me that second chance, but for some reason it did not bother me very much at all. I was very surprised. I guess it must have been more important for me to ask for the second chance than to receive it.</div>
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My old friend Kelly Marshall once talked to me about "wallowing in grace". I always wondered what that looked like but I have never dared try it before. God has been patiently waiting for me to take that dare - to give myself a second chance to "wallow" in His merciful love.</div>
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It is looking like 2012 could be a year full of second chances for me if I'm willing to take them. This second half of my life could be a great example of what grace in action looks like. I just have to be willing to step out in faith. I think I just might do that!</div>
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How about you? <b>Are you willing to give yourself a second chance?</b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XRJZBK9c7vs/Tw0vOC690TI/AAAAAAAAA9w/zx0DRzjZvSs/s1600/blog+pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XRJZBK9c7vs/Tw0vOC690TI/AAAAAAAAA9w/zx0DRzjZvSs/s1600/blog+pic.png" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-33021270797200727512012-01-10T08:23:00.000-06:002012-01-10T08:23:08.835-06:00Sitting Next To Satan<div style="text-align: justify;">The past few weeks have been crazy here in my home. Getting ready to add two adults and four large dogs to our household kind of turned us on our head. We had to clean out, get rid of, pack up, and organize a lot of "stuff". We had to rebuild fences. We had to <i><b>literally</b></i> put out a fire (thanks for making that part of my day, Daddy). We had to switch things around and we had to shed a few tears.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The good news is that we survived it all. Hubby, Daddy, and I made it through the daunting emotional task of cleaning out Mama's room and packing up her belongings. Sister, Ricky Ricardo (nickname for brother-in-law), and the hounds arrived safely and got moved in. The hounds got boxed in to the cul-de-sac when they got out of the backyard and could not get away from us when we went after them. Hubby managed to get out of here on time to go to his men's retreat at Laity Lodge and I did not have to frantically call him back to handle any emergencies.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">An interesting thing that kept happening through the course of this preparation and moving-in process was that I would find prayer requests that I had written down at various times over the last few years. Some were in notebooks and others were on scraps of paper. The requests came from a multitude of different people that I had met in all kinds of interesting ways. As I found each request, I would say a short prayer for that person again and then move on to my next task.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">However, there is one of those prayer requests that I have not been able to put away. I have it sitting here next to my computer where I can look at it often. I have no expectation of ever again seeing the young man who prompted the prayer request, but he is here with me even so. I see his face and the look of anxiety it held. I feel the spiritual warfare still raging around his family. I wonder how they are faring.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I met this little boy, Jesse, while I was doing some volunteer work for a Christian children's program. Jesse was part of the small group that I was talking to about that day's Bible lesson. Seemingly out of the blue, Jesse looked straight at me and asked, "Is Satan real?". I told him that Satan was most definitely real. Jesse heaved a huge sigh and said, "Sometimes I feel like I am tied up right next to Satan". That broke my heart. Jesse was only in fourth grade and he was having to contend with the devil already? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jesse and I talked for a few minutes about how Christ has overcome evil and that salvation is available to all. He seemed comforted by our conversation and seemed to enjoy the rest of our afternoon together. He even gave me his gummy treats (I do not like gummy treats, but I never would have told him that when it was obviously such a prized gift). Myself and the other volunteers walked the kids home at the end of the day. I gave Jesse a pat on the back when we got to the apartment where he was temporarily staying and that was the last I ever saw of him. It has been over two years since then.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To be completely honest, I will tell you that there are some prayer requests that are made of me that I do not write down and forget soon after saying the first one or two prayers. But there are some prayer concerns that stay with me long after they have been first brought to my attention. I am pretty sure that I will be praying for a hedge of angels to be around Jesse as long as I am able to. I don't want anyone to have to feel like they are bound up next to Satan, especially not such a tenderhearted young man. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Do you write down prayer requests? Do you keep them and pray over them years later? It is a formal thing for you or do you just use scraps lying around like I do?</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
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</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over <a href="http://findingheaventoday.blogspot.com/2012/01/how-much-is-your-faith-worth-and-soli.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a>. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://findingheaventoday.blogspot.com/2012/01/how-much-is-your-faith-worth-and-soli.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2IE_LNX1U/TwxH6jAGHXI/AAAAAAAAA9o/TM07xCfznFo/s200/soli+deo+gloria.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-43271070980285013722012-01-08T06:00:00.001-06:002012-01-08T06:00:06.803-06:00Oops!<div style="text-align: justify;">With sister moving in this weekend and my eating disorder recovery obligations, time got away from me. Desde el Monte will be back next week!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Blessings to you all!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a></div>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-37223917094331980342012-01-05T23:08:00.001-06:002012-01-05T23:08:16.173-06:00I Know My Truth (?)<div style="text-align: justify;">Oh, how I hate the memories that can still reduce me to tears. I seriously wish that I could amputate those useless thoughts. Yet there they are, taking up rent-free space in my head. I can keep them quiet for fairly long stretches, but that doesn't reduce their power. They still get a seat at the board meeting every time I assess my worth. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tonight is one of those nights when such a memory has come back full force. It has actually come up several times this week, not really by my choice. Ignoring it has not made it go away, although I have put some serious effort into that. I wish I had the kind of faith that thought even having these memories was happening for a true purpose, but I'm not sure I can stretch quite that far.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I called a friend when the memory came back up. I was sniveling and not making much sense, but I finally got the story out. I asked her, "Wouldn't that make you feel pretty bad about yourself?". She said, "<b>Yes, but you know your truth now</b>". I do? <b>What is my truth?</b> Is it that what other people say about me doesn't make a difference? Or is it that the opinions of me held by my loved ones really do matter and shape my world? Is my truth that I'm good enough, smart enough, and darn it, people like me? Or is it that I have been a wasted effort for many years? Better yet, which one of those ideas is <i><b>supposed</b></i> to be my truth?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let me tell you a story. Maybe you can help me decide what to think about it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I was 12. I was a pale, freckled, nerdy child who was socially awkward in many ways. I was also melancholy and emotionally fragile. There was no outside help for me because the church that I attended believed that everything was a faith issue. So counseling was out of the question for the emotional problems and charm school was too expensive to be able to fix the social problems. Prayer was my only avenue and not one I believed in strongly at the time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He was 14. He was a good-looking, tanned, popular kid. He was talented in sports and music. He surfed as well, which was a big thing at the time. He did not just fit in with the right people. He was the person you wanted to fit in with. He went to church too, but the only thing I can say for sure that he believed in at the time was having fun.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I worshiped the ground he walked on. He tolerated me sometimes, but mostly ignored my existence. He actually was rather embarrassed by me, but I was like a loyal puppy that just did not care as long as I could be near him. I just did not know <i>how much</i> I embarrassed him. That was about to change.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The day came when I evidently pushed the limit. He was surrounded by friends. His girlfriend walked up to me and asked me a question. He could not hear what she said or what I said in reply, but evidently he did not want to take any chances. Almost without knowing how it happened, I ended up with him holding a lethal-looking knife to my throat. His face was red with anger and his rage was so great that his whole body was shaking. He told me that if I ever talked to one of his friends again, he would kill me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let me stop here to say that having a knife held to your throat is never fun. Having a person who is shaking hold a knife to your throat just ratchets up the fear by a factor of 10. I am going to optimistically assume that you will never have to deal with this, so let's get back to our story. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">His friends were all pretty freaked out. I really don't remember who managed to get him backed off or how they did it. Hopefully you can understand that I was a little shocked and therefore my memories got a little hazy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you had asked me about 10 seconds before he pulled that knife what I thought he would do if I embarrassed him, I could not have ever imagined something so extreme or dangerous. Neither of us had violence in our daily lives, so this was totally unpredictable.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I told an adult that night, but I just got a shrug and a "he shouldn't have done that". No serious shock. No calling the authorities to figure out what was going on with this knife-wielding teen. Not a "you should never be around a dangerous kid like that again". Especially not a "that isn't who you are even if he says so". </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was already getting signals from many sources, including inside my home, that there was something wrong with me and that it was my fault. Evidently the popular theory was that I had chosen to be nerdy, socially awkward, melancholy, and emotionally fragile. And my motive for choosing those traits? So I could make trouble for the people around me. So the knife-pulling incident just reinforced those thoughts and gave me a new one: I was so embarrassing that I was worth killing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I actually got the nerve to ask him years later about why he would do something like that. He got mad at me. He used that handy way of blowing off hurts by saying, "You're just holding on to things. You should have let that go a long time ago." Yep. He evidently had no culpability in the issue at all. AND he swore that I should have known that he would never have actually hurt me. Really? Because I had so much experience at twelve years of age with people pulling knives on me that I would know who was serious and who was not?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I think he was right though. I should have let go of it. The unfortunate fact is that I've always thought that by letting go of a hurt, you were telling the person who hurt you that what they had done was okay. You were letting them get away with it. The sad truth is that he had already gotten away with it - there were zero consequences for him. The other kids and the adults in his life simply were not concerned about the depth of his anger. And holding on to the hurt has not brought one ounce of justice to the situation. It has not brought any mercy either. It certainly has not helped me walk humbly with my God.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He has moved on. To the best of my knowledge, when he thinks of me at all, he still finds me a bit strange and embarrassing. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am still melancholy and emotionally fragile (probably still nerdy too). I still hold on to old hurts and let the horrible things people have said about me determine my self-worth. When I look at it that way, I'm not sure that I know my truth. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>What is your truth?</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-52172640869505614092012-01-04T06:43:00.001-06:002012-01-04T06:45:20.104-06:00Things I Know Right This Minute<div style="text-align: justify;">1. Mixing too many smells (wood stain, gasoline, Cajun spices, etc.) can make you lose your appetite.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2. There are still not enough employed copy editors in this world. Sorry, but computers cannot match the quality of a live person in this field of endeavor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">3. I'm still a sucker for any dog that does not growl at me and going to PetSmart (where I see <i>many</i> of these dogs) just makes me want more of them. (Yes, I already have more than I can handle, but I'm still a sucker.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">4. Mexican vanilla is <i><b>way</b></i> underrated as a stand-alone flavor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">5. The <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0098258/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Say Anything</span></b></a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Say_Anything...#Soundtrack" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">soundtrack</span></a> has stood the test of time. Lloyd Dobler should be proud.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">6. Somebody really needs to look into making character-building exercises more fun. Seriously.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
7. I am now old enough to talk to teenagers about a multitude of things they have never heard of before (rotary phones, busy signals, kindergarten without computers, long distance charges, etc.)<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">8. Being of two minds can be very scary:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nkCwNLt76iA/TwRG1EmKtGI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/9_Q5jCO36eg/s1600/Of-2-Minds-190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nkCwNLt76iA/TwRG1EmKtGI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/9_Q5jCO36eg/s400/Of-2-Minds-190.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Click <a href="http://www.bungledjungle.com/monster-photo-gallery.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a> to go to the Bungled Jungle, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">home of "Of 2 Minds" and other</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">amazing creatures.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The mundane and profound seem to mix together in life's lessons. I am just trying to be true to what God is teaching me. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-944958670766129557.post-90469830944204134732012-01-02T06:21:00.000-06:002012-01-02T06:21:22.367-06:00The Meditation Of My Heart<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #0c343d;">May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer. Psalm 19:14</span></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;">I remember my friend Sandra once posting on Facebook that she had chosen a Bible verse to focus on for the year. I thought that was a great idea - for her anyway. I'm not that great at focusing on things in The Land Beyond The End Of My Nose. This year is different, though. I know that I will have to focus on Godly things in order to survive. It has just gotten to that point. <br />
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I thought about finding a verse that would help me, but only me. Of course, the thought that followed that is that is not how God works. He is not wanting Carolyn to focus on Carolyn. He is wanting me to focus on Him and those He has called me to serve. And I will have the opportunity to serve this year, for sure.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Just to fill you in a bit: my sister, her husband, and their four large dogs are moving in with us in about four days. They have never fully recovered financially from her getting laid off (he is on disability). They need to "move home" and I am blessed that my house is considered home. Anyone who has known me for a long time knows how amazing that is. Nobody ever really thought I would be able to provide for myself, much less for others. God has worked miracles in my life again. And so I will be able to serve my sister and her husband, for His sake.<br />
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Also, my relationship with my father has become quite tense, so much so that my husband has wanted to intervene, but I have asked him to hold back for a little longer. There is only so much, though, that my husband will allow me to take before he puts a stop to it. It is a tightrope walk sometimes to protect myself from being hurt while honoring my father. There are some days when I actually resent that commandment, but I try to let that go because I know God has my best interests at heart. Honoring someone who is not being honorable develops character, and I could use some of that.<br />
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With all of this family upheaval in mind, I decided that I might not need just <i>one</i> Bible verse this year. So I found four verses that encompass what I need to be focusing on in the coming months.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">8</span> Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">9 </span>Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">10</span> Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">11</span> If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. 1 Peter 4:8-11</span></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hope to make these verses the meditation of my heart this year. I am not experienced at this, so feel free to prod me along. There will never be too many reminders to focus on God's word.<br />
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<b>Do you have a piece of scripture or a thought that you will be focusing on this year? Please share with us.</b></div><br />
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<a href="http://s1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/?action=view&current=sig3.png" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://i1190.photobucket.com/albums/z446/evainecounterman/sig3.png" /></a>Carolyn Evaine Countermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05955241245087668308noreply@blogger.com4