tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79341809267935774012024-03-05T14:02:09.326-08:00Barefoot and Free...on Holy GroundKerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-86471088307993643642016-12-20T10:58:00.003-08:002016-12-20T10:59:32.939-08:00Lost and Found<h2 style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am missing something. But unlike misplaced keys or
lipstick, I haven’t quite known what “it” is.
There’s been a general sense that is both unsettling and distracting, really just absolute fatigue. After some difficult
relationship issues at work, I believe I’m missing, as in lonely for, a part of
myself. Perhaps a shadow of whom I was a
few years ago, writing my way through great heartache and leaning in to the
Lord with an intimacy that can’t be described. And maybe I just need a reminder of who I am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Who I am”, has been challenged lately. Yes, the compassion, love, and dedication to
caring for people, has been casually mocked and laid out bare as though I’m a
joke. I’ve heard the terms “enabling,”
“too nice”, as well people loudly mocking the way I interact with my patients
over the phone. I’ve heard comments that
I care too much, and should just do the basics and let things go. “Don’t worry” about it, “It’s not your
problem,” and of course the most recent little tidbit of advice laughingly
thrown out… “You need to be on Lexapro.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I sat down with some worship music today, the first day of
my needed Christmas vacation. I came
home so angry last night after the latest comments were blurted out about me
yesterday at work in front of coworkers.
It does cause me to question myself, asking if there is something wrong
with me. Am I so different? Maybe I
should just blend…and then I was led to read back through my old </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Blog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In those posts, I didn’t see blending. I saw the heartache of Luke’s illness and re experienced
the shear terror of trying to get back into nursing. But I also relived those
priceless God moments and times of revelation.
I realized I am missing that. I am
missing listening to and hearing from God and then pouring my heart out to
share with that one isolated reader. Those experiences are the brick and mortar
of why I do what I do, why I love people so passionately and am so determined
to make a difference.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I told Tommy last night as I was falling asleep, that being
persecuted for doing good is still alive and present, if not in a more subtle
form, just as painful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">However, the ugliness will only fuel my desire to make a difference. Blend? I will not. Those who have been touched by the Great Healer will not be silenced. In the name of Jesus…</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fdfeff; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #001320; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do you light a candle and put it under a basket. Instead they put it on a lamp stand and it gives light to everyone in the house." Matthew 5:14 </span></span></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-78897174170921569332014-06-20T07:20:00.000-07:002014-06-20T10:10:59.906-07:00Cheese Movers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">It’s the second weekend of summer and the second weekend in a row of too
many parent needs with an odd mixture of blessings thrown in like teasers to keep us
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wednesday, Mother and I left to go look
at a used lift recliner for Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Thankfully I was driving</span> her 17 year old Lumina, because the motor blew out about 3 miles into our
journey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>After an obvious "pop, jolt, and shudder," I literally felt the life drain
out of this sad ‘ole car, while I coasted down 1641 till reaching a safe place
to park. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank goodness Mom had a towing
service card handy as well as a cheerful attitude, and Lydia, as
usual, sat quietly in the backseat without a complaint. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">While waiting on a tow truck, oddly, I kept humming an old tune but
with a weird twist. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This was the day…the
Lumina…died. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we were singing…Bye,
bye Ms. American pie…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess my mind
was trying to lighten the craziness of the day, I don’t know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad was left "home alone", which we rarely do, because we didn’t
plan on being gone long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So things were
further dramatized as mom dialed their home number to try to explain to </span></b>Daddy,
who can’t hear on the phone, that #1 the car was dead, #2 we hadn’t been in a
wreck, #3 we were safe, but #4 we wouldn’t be home any time soon. </div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Thursday, Lydia
and I made it to see the lift chair by ourselves, and made an executive decision to get it. Thursday
night Tommy and I took his 2014 Malibu
loaner car (yes his was in the hospital) over to mom’s house to see if Dad
could fit in it, saving them a major circus-like trip to the car dealership to find a car. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’ve ever seen Daddy
transfer, you’d know why we considered this among our teaser blessings! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully we were able to wedge his body into the front passenger seat without too much trouble. After taking it for a
spin around Kaufman, my parents were agreeable to buying a similar car making
that process simpler than it could have been.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Back at the house, we started moving things around to make room for Dad's recliner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s kinda like the book, “If You Give a Mouse
a Cookie”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make room for the
recliner, you have to move a sleeper sofa. To make room for the sleeper sofa you have to put
a bunch of stuff in the attic as well as move two electric beds in two different places back together in a new spot. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make room for the electric beds in a new spot,
you have to move a queen size bed to my house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To make room for the queen size bed in my
house you have to move a twin bed from my house back to Mom’s house…and on it goes. Dad was
understandably agitated, and I’m fairly sure I saw Mother glaring at me a few
times as I made more unappreciated, executive decisions without much sympathy for her plight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get it…not only did their car die, but, as
mom likes to say when Dad has a hard time handling change, “their cheese is
being moved.”</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Today Tommy is renting a UHAUL to move afore mentioned “cheese” into the appropriate places
with help from Mom’s faithful yard man. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
plan is to stay out of the way and out of the line of fire while attending to my own cheese moving phobias. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be cooking a meal to take later as an appeasement
offering while thanking God for the teaser blessings along the way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>We’ll likely leave the car
buying till next week, spaced in and around taking Daddy to Rockwall for a heart
monitor…</span></b></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-22933119073602332102014-04-09T20:18:00.000-07:002014-04-09T21:07:15.857-07:00A Time to Cry<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I brought him home again, yesterday, minus about 17 pounds.
So much has happened and there has been little time to process it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not the kind of crying I want to do with
people in and out of the room all day. So I stuffed it. I stuffed, crammed
down, and glossed over all the horror of the last few weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And today I feel the effects of compacted
trauma oozing out in sporadic tears, short tempers, and absolute fatigue. In fact
I swear my brain is in a fog.</div>
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So many “moments,” images of suffering, gut wrenching fear,
and pure rage are imprinted into my brain, triggering post traumatic stress
symptoms at inappropriate times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tonight
I don’t even know how to process them, but they are there, and they have
changed me to the core. You go from one day to the next accepting the worst
case scenarios that seem to surround you, all the while thinking, surely this
is it…things will get better. </div>
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It took 10 days to get him well enough after surgery to come
home from Rockwall after they resectioned his infected intestines and took his
appendix out. He lasted nearly 4 days till he started to pass out from low
blood pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we took him back in
for fluids thinking he was just dehydrated. But after multiple bags of IV
fluids and a continued drop in blood pressure, they decided to admit him.</div>
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Begging to go to the bathroom but not enough pressure in his
vessels to allow him to stand up, we resorted to humiliating means to get him
relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More IV’s inserted to give blood, and I cried
some more. He was so pale and barely staying awake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> They said it was time to transfer him to Children's.</span> </div>
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By the time I was hoisting myself up into the ambulance from
Children’s Hospital the next morning, I think I went numb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I briefly remember a chaplain from Rockwall
Presbyterian hugging me and promising to pray for us. Luke was strapped in a
gurney with IV’s and blood dripping, heart monitors beeping and blood pressure
cuffs inflating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ride there was a
blur after being up all night knowing he was bleeding inside, somewhere, enough
to drop his blood pressure to just barely…</div>
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Shortly after being admitted at Children’s he was evaluated
and had an Nasogastric tube inserted from his nose into his stomach so they could pump jugs of bowel prep into him. I thought Luke was going to give up at that point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gave me a desperate look begging me to do
something. The prep and bathroom trips continued until Tommy called a halt to
the craziness at 4:30 am. They’d been up some 25-30 times to the bathroom and
had reached absolute exhaustion. But that wasn’t the end of chaos.</div>
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Half jokingly, Luke warned the Anesthesiologist the next day
that things never go easy with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
as they entered Luke’s stomach and small intestine for the endoscopy, they
found a mass of ulcers, oozing blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of them had ulcerated clear through to a blood vessel which broke
open during the procedure, causing more chaos in the OR and spilling more precious blood he couldn't afford to loose.
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After two more units of blood followed by a very long weekend of no food or drink while the ulcers healed, and being isolated to his room, he
was allowed to go home…some 7 days after going back to the ER in Rockwall.</div>
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There are so many instances of seeing God’s hand, His
provision, His comfort and His miracles. And I want to write about those times.
But tonight I feel the panic with a need to just cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoping that the tears will clear the way to
remember the good, the sweet, and the compassion we’ve been shown…for another
day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-7060006883791601012014-03-26T00:53:00.002-07:002014-03-26T06:31:12.969-07:00The Sweetness of Suffering Long<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://stockarch.com/files/imagecache/Preview/10/05/lovers_holding_hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://stockarch.com/files/imagecache/Preview/10/05/lovers_holding_hands.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What an odd time to be pouring out my thoughts, or maybe
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seems like it’s in the worst of
times that the Lord allows my fingers to work through these tormenting, emotional
knots.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1:30 am on Wednesday morning and Luke has had another awful
start to the night. He’s just miserable with pain and nausea, I guess with his
bowels trying to sort out their purpose. Even after IV medication he’s
restless, moaning, begging to go home and be done with this nightmare. I’ve
lost count of the number of times he’s dragged his rapidly thinning frame out
of the bed and hobbled to the bathroom with “George,” his unwanted IV pole
companion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve felt myself nearly checking out at times, and have
blamed it on being short of sleep. But the last 24 hours I’ve had a word
forcing itself to the forefront of my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Amidst the pain, sleeplessness, and agony of seeing my child miserable, I
hear the word “long suffering.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over and
over this word keeps repeating itself in my brain. It’s not a word I know
really, or use. In fact I wouldn’t have been able to tell you much about it except that at the height of Luke’s misery tonight I looked it
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long-suffering is a fruit of the
Spirit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My take on it is this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>God wants me to look past the present heartache somehow to understand
the concept of abiding with Him, in His timing, and for His purposes, not mine.
Long-suffering is allowing Him to carry me and others through the most tedious
of suffering. It’s allowing the Holy Spirit to abide and work when all other
attempts to control and manipulate are failing. It’s what allows the church to
walk with someone through the pain no matter how impossible things seem. Long
suffering through the Holy Spirit breaths out from the care givers of the dying,
and exudes peace and hope to the disabled. It accepts that we aren’t on an
instant fix schedule, but rather submitting to the Lord’s will with a peace
that can only come from my Father. A Father who I know loves me so very much
tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In our instant society we have tight control of many things
to avoid delays, inconveniences, and ultimately pain that makes us unhappy. As
I’ve walked these hospital halls there are times I think we will never leave.
By my calculations, we should have been home days ago. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fret because things aren’t working out like
I think they should. And I can’t even imagine the pain Luke has right now or
the hopelessness he is dealing with. He is missing Band UIL and musical theater rehearsals
for “Oklahoma.” The homework is piling up, his weight is dropping, and he is feeling so trapped.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
I believe, though, that tonight the Lord has persistently
been whispering to me “Long-suffering, Kerrie. You aren’t going to fix this
according to yours or anyone else’s plans or needs. Let go and just walk with
me as I grow and share this bitter sweet fruit, through you."<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7brDyOU6p7wNuS-RcUSYmq9Cro_vQvYq34ILCPHMSk52jqjkyEaDnxfL85mNMEsoAVNPseUEfMGEhVaMX4gmGTwsiJhZ2de_AreYAi5-ggEk_Uv7rc3VDJCpNl0W-Wqg-oFZnUfGL3Fk/s1600/signaturepale.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7brDyOU6p7wNuS-RcUSYmq9Cro_vQvYq34ILCPHMSk52jqjkyEaDnxfL85mNMEsoAVNPseUEfMGEhVaMX4gmGTwsiJhZ2de_AreYAi5-ggEk_Uv7rc3VDJCpNl0W-Wqg-oFZnUfGL3Fk/s1600/signaturepale.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-64274191710209171912014-03-23T19:05:00.004-07:002014-03-23T19:14:25.746-07:00Battle Scarred Faith<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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This last week, Tommy and I’ve watch Luke struggle through
horrible abdominal pain, nausea, and a 3 hour ER wait while vomiting in a trash
can as strangers looked on. He chugged down
contrast dye, vomiting multiple times before being wheeled off without us to
get a CT scan. He was then whisked off to surgery with a hope of being pain free and
leaving in the morning. Instead, he <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>woke
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>up to find himself chained to IV poles,
a mass of bandages across his lower abdomen, and plastic bottles and tubes
coming out of holes not previously there. His simple appendectomy turned into
major abdominal surgery including removal of parts of the small and large
intestine that were so infected they had to be discarded along with an <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>appendix reported to be 10-15 times normal
size. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found myself in shock, feeling like I’d entered the Twilight
Zone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lord I thought, are you for real
here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What's up? I’ve done my duty many
times over, and we deserve some kind of break don’t we? Why are you allowing us
to go through more crap with our other son? But I’m reminded that my heart has
told the Lord that I just want to bring him honor. I just want to be a light in
darkness. It’s so easy to proclaim that in the middle of easy times, but when
you find yourself in another ER, watching son number 2 begging for relief it’s
easy to say to hell with wanting to be warrior princess for God, just give my
son some relief.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But today I heard a code called upstairs on someone who quit
breathing and found myself whispering prayers for healing. A man in the
cafeteria getting coffee with me needed to talk about his wife’s surgery.
Walking the halls with Luke I pass a down cast Spanish woman who looks hopeless... "Lord bring her relief and peace”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another gentleman hobbling down the hall with an IV pole for a cane, “Keep
up the good work sir!” the thoughts, words, prayers just flowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Lord is present, abiding, living,
breathing through me in the middle of Luke’s nightmare.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I’ve said many times, if we want to be a light in a dark
world we gotta walk through the darkness in order to shine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This life ain't about careers and vacations,
and retirements or bank account worries. Its not about making
our place in this world and having people admire us. It’s about Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s about thanking him for the opportunities
to be faithful and recognizing that faithfulness impacts the world most when
things are at their worst. It’s about realizing God has kingdom sized plans
that don’t revolve around our family's comfort… and I can choose to be a part
of His army with joy. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So tonight I ask
myself what right do I have to complain? I can come up with a hundred things to
complain about, or I can begin thanking God for another opportunity to proclaim
His glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Andrew didn’t learn to love
and trust his Father through a normal pain free life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my wise mother reminded me this weekend
that Luke was also being molded. Who am I to complain and stand in the way of
experiences that will allow Luke to develop faith and perseverance? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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We’ve been blessed with amazing doctors, nurses, techs,
ladies that bring clean linens, and cafeteria workers that make sure we have food
and coffee. We've been shown love and support that has come in like a tidal
wave of blessings. And Tommy, my steady rock that just keeps on giving, loving,
providing and telling me not to worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> His worth can in no way be measured through promotions or pocketbooks. He is priceless.
</span>My cup runneth over this week. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life.</div>
<br />
<br />
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-53741352090973853842014-02-12T08:20:00.001-08:002014-02-13T05:52:44.816-08:00Call a Tow Truck Please<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFaXjMl8Z8vQmb2_H6NysQrN7tXpVxw1dTBMrbBa9iXpLNSwAuzNY1g9zeaGXT4fkHhbczpCyEaSq6g7_yBSLtIqSG3HVEPbu-ngGgWbk4_GkgpmACFHeNR-Ct6xf8vV3kMtXv25GcLc/s1600/zwierzeta-koty-2560-1920-3503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFaXjMl8Z8vQmb2_H6NysQrN7tXpVxw1dTBMrbBa9iXpLNSwAuzNY1g9zeaGXT4fkHhbczpCyEaSq6g7_yBSLtIqSG3HVEPbu-ngGgWbk4_GkgpmACFHeNR-Ct6xf8vV3kMtXv25GcLc/s1600/zwierzeta-koty-2560-1920-3503.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I feel bound by the effects of fear in a way
that mimics my dad’s own physical paralysis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I need to be able to go back to school to be licensed, but so much
trauma from my childhood abuse breakdown is entangled like a knotted mess in
and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>around my past nursing career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I think about nursing, I feel pain, no more like agony,
shame, absolute humiliation that my mental health crumbled in the midst of what
should have been a successful career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now I can’t separate the two well enough to get an objective outlook of
what I’m capable of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Deep down, I know I’m a much different person, probably
better in many ways, than that young 20 something year old nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve lived through some horrible times,
managed many crises, learned to love deeply, and minister from a spring of
healing that I know erupted from near fatal wounds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It sounds like such a simple fix…go back to school, get re licensed and then get a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Going back into nursing, though, is much more to me than taking an RN refresher course. Its about maneuvering around and sifting through the rubble from one of the most explosive, uncertain times of my life. Memories, like bombs, get triggered and I'm afraid that I'll end up just another casualty. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">This morning my brain is being hammered </span>with a pounding, barrage of what if’s…What if I go into emotional and mental lock down, meaning
that I’m so paralyzed by fear that I can’t go to classes or clinicals?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I get sick inside with anxiety so
acute that I find myself physically rocking back and forth again in an attempt
to calm myself? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I
can’t do the driving? What if this nearly 50 year old wanna be nurse can’t
adjust to all the changes? What if no one will hire me? What if this isn’t God’s
will at all, but just my own attempt to “fix” things my way rather than
waiting on God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And truthfully the
worst, what if the glue that has held my dissociation safely together to function
as a mom and wife isn’t strong enough to allow me to withstand the stress of
starting over in a career? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could
dissociate…I could be humiliated … I could fail miserably...all – over – again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People say to pray about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, that's the Christian thing to do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am and have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been no clear “yes’s” heard by my
efforts, but the more heart breaking, situational “no’s” instead. Every other
door has been rudely closed on my inquiry. Even the simplest of jobs that I
know could be done well, have not opened even a smidgen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I say to myself, 'perhaps this is God steering me back to
being a nurse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he is going to do
much more than give me a salary but teach me an excruciating lesson in trusting
Him. Maybe there will be some needed healing come along with this second chance. Perhaps it’s time to have my own “what if?” covered, humongous ego towed out of the way so that I can see Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">'</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m trying hard this morning to envision another list of “what
if’s”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if He shows me the way
through school and I find a low stress job that I love?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if my income blesses Tommy financially? What
if I learn to trust my Papa Father at an even deeper level? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if, along the way, I'm able to internalize that my worth isn't in <i>what</i> I do, but in <i>who</i> I follow?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7brDyOU6p7wNuS-RcUSYmq9Cro_vQvYq34ILCPHMSk52jqjkyEaDnxfL85mNMEsoAVNPseUEfMGEhVaMX4gmGTwsiJhZ2de_AreYAi5-ggEk_Uv7rc3VDJCpNl0W-Wqg-oFZnUfGL3Fk/s1600/signaturepale.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7brDyOU6p7wNuS-RcUSYmq9Cro_vQvYq34ILCPHMSk52jqjkyEaDnxfL85mNMEsoAVNPseUEfMGEhVaMX4gmGTwsiJhZ2de_AreYAi5-ggEk_Uv7rc3VDJCpNl0W-Wqg-oFZnUfGL3Fk/s1600/signaturepale.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-26331996841183465612013-11-04T07:18:00.000-08:002013-11-04T16:11:21.653-08:00Hormones Are Just Not Cool<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFIP6YfJM8_KWARBO9D_VIgcCYOQkfGqRS33OurL0FdxlCY3TOlnTyAcvoxfscaL8ZNAvlcJ3bN9CGJds8wtI1-2BygAzL6rMqiQcL-IW1GsoKrnOJgfv0FysSfQ_Ths6Ckn8fd3VWpw/s1600/classic-audio-cassette-tape-coming-out-22047545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFIP6YfJM8_KWARBO9D_VIgcCYOQkfGqRS33OurL0FdxlCY3TOlnTyAcvoxfscaL8ZNAvlcJ3bN9CGJds8wtI1-2BygAzL6rMqiQcL-IW1GsoKrnOJgfv0FysSfQ_Ths6Ckn8fd3VWpw/s400/classic-audio-cassette-tape-coming-out-22047545.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I decided to join the
Upper Room fast this week, ‘cause fasting seems to help me deal with difficult
situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last time I fasted, it was
right after stopping my antidepressants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a very beautiful time of total dependence on God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My rational, medically oriented mind said
denying my body of food after stopping meds I’d been on for over three years was just
plain stupid. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>But faith doesn’t abide by reason. Faith said
I was choosing to trust God to heal my depression, bridge the gaps, fill in the
missing pieces…Faith lets go of what I can see and reaches out to the One who
knows me best.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My fasting this week is stimulated by continued problems
with caffeine withdrawal, headaches, hot flashes, and sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, it’s all rooted in something that’s perfectly normal although
horribly humiliating to me. And that would be the awful, dreaded time in life
called menopause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those valuable
hormones that have sustained me since I was 13, are now exiting my aging body
quite rudely and abruptly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
embarrassed though, because it means I’m getting old saying “so long” to the
familiar, and acknowledging with or, perhaps without grace, another stage of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m just not sure how easily I’m going to
let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to be causing me some
grief, sadness, and fear about what to expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe someone should write a book about what to expect when you’re
expecting…menopause? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday I was so sleep deprived from recurring hot flashes
and headaches that I felt like an idiot in Bible Class. We were divided into
groups of four and asked to pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
re-introduced myself to a young man in my group that didn’t know me other than
being Andrew’s mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I look over at
him and said, “You remember, I’m Andrew’s sister”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously I’d intended to say, “Andrew’s
mom”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took a full 15 seconds at
least, before I saw the looks on people’s faces letting me know I’d made another
verbal snafu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I corrected myself, and
although one young adult continued to laugh hard, it wasn’t funny to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then heard an old, ugly “tape” in my head,
reminding me of how stupid I felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was in elementary school, I was in some sort of
discussion with my dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember
the specifics but he got agitated at me, and said something that left a
permanent gouge in my self esteem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
told me, “You’d be better to just keep your mouth shut, and then no one will
know how stupid you are.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ouch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m,
afraid anyway of speaking out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most
times, I don’t trust myself to get the words out correctly especially if I’m
tired. We’ve just attributed my occasional “slow brain” to old Dissociative
Identity issues, like an old scar that jolts me across some mental bumps in the
road. On difficult days I’ve been disoriented, and on some level thought I
was back in an earlier time frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
told Tommy several times, “I’m not going to Longview today, maybe tomorrow.” What I meant
was Mesquite,
but for a bit of time, I couldn’t quit decipher where I was. We usually laugh
about it, and the kids know they have to think around my words to the real
meaning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, after the group's laughing subsided yesterday, I refocused on our
task to pray for an individual. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I told myself that my intellect was in no way connected to my ability to get my
thoughts formed into verbal communication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Besides, the Lord was present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
asked Him to speak through all of us and when it came time to pray, I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure what all I said, but I know
there was no stumbling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Holy Spirit
has a way of bypassing our scars and fears and pouring out through even the
most broken souls willing to be used.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I am willing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So today, I will fast and draw near to my Father not just
about the headaches and hot flashes, but with eager anticipation of anything
and everything He wants to reveal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
hard as it is to be thankful for the icky things in life, I’ll try to praise
God for this time of change in my life, knowing that He is preparing and using
my weaknesses to be a clear voice, for Him.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-73886828136775146662013-10-24T10:13:00.000-07:002013-10-24T10:23:21.557-07:00Broken Hearts, Hand in Hand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34WKpHxY5Ya9YNYzmVc60CXoeX3t5c5V6C7l1ydnjDVlrm4wj9hKFnKa-azeH1W3oCFJKXqreY9BbzGoDwGOd4EzB6eZIqJfOQmBZXI1RL7BEKfmJ6qpsFrJOW2q0SrlWMNGb-VLvles/s1600/3247441566_182ee91c28_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj34WKpHxY5Ya9YNYzmVc60CXoeX3t5c5V6C7l1ydnjDVlrm4wj9hKFnKa-azeH1W3oCFJKXqreY9BbzGoDwGOd4EzB6eZIqJfOQmBZXI1RL7BEKfmJ6qpsFrJOW2q0SrlWMNGb-VLvles/s320/3247441566_182ee91c28_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m by myself today, probably the first time in a
while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a million things I need
to be doing but my mind keeps trapping me in a relentless, mentally draining,
“what if” scenario about tomorrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve been oddly waiting for, yet dreading, Mom’s cardiology
appointment for months now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
thinking about taking her for the echocardiogram tomorrow makes my heart
pound and my adrenaline pump a bit too hard. Its like my mind knows even before
the doctor tells us, that things are worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not being negative and its not a crisis of faith
either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen her health go steadily
downhill for the last year. It shows in her eyes, the color of her skin, in her
walk, and as she catches her breath moving Daddy back and forth from their bed.
Her weakened heart valves are not closing properly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I feel myself somehow chasing after her
down this long steep hill, trying so very hard to catch up so I can fix things
or at least patch them over for awhile longer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I crave time to just sit and spill my thoughts about anything and
everything. She does the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
other day while dad was getting his teeth pulled, we couldn’t fit enough words
in to our uninterrupted waiting time. If I could just soak up a bit more of her
wisdom before…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can't bear to think about her leaving me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can’t even stand the thought of her
being sick again, like with her brain surgery a few years ago. Today it feels like my heart is broken too. The
responsibility and decisions of caring for Daddy are tremendous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s more about me not seeing her suffer, and
wishing things could be better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d love to give her a taste of another life, one that
allowed her and daddy to spend their “golden years” trolling through old
antique malls, dining in quaint little restaurants, and going to worship
together with their friends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d love to
see Daddy caring for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> when she is
ill, fixing her coffee, tucking her in at night, locking the doors and then kissing her
cheek with assurance that all is well. But that won't be happening in this life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We shall see tomorrow. Some sort of life changing verdict
will be handed down and, as always, we will adjust, decide to make the best of
it, and encourage each other to move on down the hill, hopefully hand in hand,
in acceptance of her path. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of these days the Lord will make it up to my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will bring her peace, joy, and hope that
I’m sure she hasn’t experienced in…probably never. And in the meantime I am
just gonna try really hard to live well, each day we are given, and be
thankful.</div>
<br />
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-6731824110639028542013-10-21T12:33:00.004-07:002013-10-21T12:33:57.312-07:00Testimony<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
Dear Family,<br />
<br />
It's been a little over four years since Andrew's diagnosis of FSGS/Nephtrotic
Syndrome, and the many endocrine issues that followed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
He had a checkup with his
kidney doctor two weeks ago, and the labs looked nearly normal except for still
spilling a small amount of protein. I think they will basically say, for
the first time ever, that he's nearly in remission from the FSGS. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Praise be to our God and Father! Initially we were told he'd
likely need a kidney transplant at this point in his life. Instead we're
celebrating his healing that has surprised even his doctor. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's been a long, grueling, beautiful journey marked with
suffering, heart break, grief, joy, spiritual growth, and miracles on many
levels. Ya'll have continued to love us and cover us all in prayer during
what has often felt like the valley of the shadow of death. There are just no
words to describe how thankful we are for you, the body of Christ.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
As a family, we've learned to
let go of our plans/ expectations of life. The suffering has redirected us to
walk hand in hand with the Lord one day at a time. Though there have been
times we've felt hopeless and wanted to give up, we've learned that the
challenges didn't kill us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as
horrible as things were for Andrew, he has learned to love God with all of his
heart, and taken on a mature faith in our Father, early in life, that will see
him through the years ahead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tommy and I’ve
both recently said, we wouldn’t change a thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As radical as it may sound, we wouldn’t trade the physical trauma for the
spiritual health he has gained in the process. <br />
<br />
If there's a message we'd leave with others, its that regardless of whether God
brings us a miracle of healing, or allows continued suffering,
He...is...faithful. And He'll <i>never </i>leave us to navigate through the
darkness alone. <br />
<br />
Thank you Father God, and may your name, above anything else, be
praised! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With much love,</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Tommy & Kerrie<span style="color: #6600cc; font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 22.0pt;"></span></div>
<br />
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-60803918203437011292013-09-19T05:12:00.001-07:002013-09-19T05:47:27.439-07:00Duct Taped and Holding<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night I was bent over dad’s legs trying to fasten a
wide elastic strap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a feeble
attempt to keep his paralyzed leg from flopping sideways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally once mom gets him in his electric
chair, she sticks this homemade paddle type device in a bracket that keeps his
leg in place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a long series of
unrelated chaos the last week, though, mom was exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She misplaced the paddle yesterday afternoon.
Translated means, she probably put the paddle on top of the car roof after
wedging his body back in for a ride to the lawyer's office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was on time for our appointment to sign papers, but I’m
pretty sure the paddle landed somewhere between their house and Main Street in
Forney.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was going over there anyway last night to get them packed
for the hospital. He has bladder stones, a common but icky complication of
permanent catheters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The procedure is
supposed to be outpatient, but last time he was in three days. So I showed up
to pack supplies for the worst scenario, and reassured mom that I had everything under control.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After lining the suitcases along the wall, mom and I
scavenged around the shop looking for anything we could use to create a "paddle” for dad’s leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t care
about the packing, surgery, or mom’s need to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just wanted something to keep his leg from
flopping so he could maneuver through the doorways..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grabbed a dowel rod and
mother got an old cutting board and roll of duct tape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ignored Dad's attempt to send me back
out to the shop to get clamps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no
time for his woodworking finesse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lydia needed a
shower, Andrew needed sinus meds to stall a looming infection. Plus, I hadn’t
even seen Tommy except to meet him the previous afternoon at an oral surgeon’s office for Andrew's consult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that followed an
early morning emergency visit to Lydia’s orthodontist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My life consists of schedules and needs that are spilling over in sloppy, inconvenient messes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like the duct taped paddle, this morning it feels like
I’m just barely holding things together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But…things are holding for now. Their air
conditioner was newly installed, dad’s foot wasn’t broken in the wreck, and
months of work on their legal affairs are nearly completed. Mom’s appointment
with the heart doctor is scheduled, and Dad is heading into surgery this
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I suppose holding together, albeit
with duct tape is better than not isn’t it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God, please make my migraine go away. Let me be kind and gracious today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep me from snapping at nurses and doctors
who ask us for the millionth time “does he have any health issues or past
surgeries” (duh!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me be patient,
slow to getting pissed off, and thankful for the less obvious blessings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Above all, fill me with your love so that I
won’t have regrets at the end of the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-1278575258232911852013-08-29T04:20:00.000-07:002013-08-29T08:20:04.411-07:00Cutting Loose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I finally stopped taking them. It’s been over three years since my
doctor agreed to treat me for depression. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was humbling to have
to go back to pills after being free of them for so long. But they helped pull
me out of a very dark place when Andrew was so sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thankful for the relief. </div>
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A few weeks ago I asked if I couldn’t try to get off the
pills.The cost to keep me on Tommy’s
family insurance at the school was more than we could afford each month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I started looking to get my own
policy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m unusually healthy
for my nearly 49 year old body, but the rates were due to increase regardless of my low risk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Go figure… Paying that much was as good as throwing away grocery money each month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while I was pruning the budget and things in our family
were emotionally stable, meaning no one had died or was in the hospital, I
decided to cut myself loose from the
antidepressants too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being prescription
free would save even more money plus make me more marketable for acceptance with a private policy:) </div>
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It’s a scary thing to let go of, like releasing hold of a life
raft because of my fear of drowning in depression. But the Lord has continued to bless me
with healing from back pain, so I figured why not take the plunge again and ask
for another miracle. </div>
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My doctor warned me things might get a little rough for a
couple of weeks after stopping the medication. I told him I would stay
intentionally close to God during that time and that He would keep me afloat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did! I've been pill free for three weeks and haven't even noticed a difference!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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There is just no other high more intoxicating than being in
God’s presence, cut loose from old securities, walking on the water with
Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lord, I want to praise you for your
mercy and grace, and give you all honor for your priceless gift of peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-60093652629232511662013-08-27T07:12:00.000-07:002013-08-27T09:11:33.605-07:00One Breath at a Time<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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So here I am Lord, Lydia and Luke are off to school for
their second day, Andrew is still asleep and will soon get up for online
classes, and I, am breathing…just breathing.</div>
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I feel almost guilty for being alone with my thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d planned on keeping Lydia home 2-3
years in home school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was
exhausted, mom and dad need me at their house more and more, and I have felt
trapped and hopeless. I guess there comes a time that sacrificing one’s self is
not so noble and gallant as it is stupid. I can’t do it all, and no one ever
asked me to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one except that annoying
little critical voice in my brain that nags at me like a relentless, invisible
nat buzzing in my ear.</div>
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Sooo, knowing mom’s deteriorating health, and dad’s
increasing needs looming on the horizon, I was prompted to juggle priorities again and
encourage Lydia
to return to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the help of
her sweet brother Luke, she decided it would be a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've struggled with the guilt of not being
“enough” to do it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the problem
is “all” is a bottomless pit and my endurance is not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, with a mixture of sadness and relief, I’ve
sent my sweet Sassy back to public school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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She loved her first day, and so did Luke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a relief for me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That doesn’t mean I’m a failure though as a
home school mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just means we’ve had
a year of bonding and loving each other and trust building that I wouldn’t have
been able to experience with her if we’d not pulled her out last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is priceless!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now if I can just finish her memory book
before this next year is over.</div>
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I sense a push of some sorts to not miss out on time with my
parents. Its like Holy Spirit is letting me know time is short. We’ve been
working on lots of legal things to get “affairs in order” so that Tommy and I
will have an easier time when they pass on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a sobering thing to have to sit and discuss with your parents for
weeks on end, but it is a part of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And theirs is winding down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
won’t be sorry or have any regrets though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
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Yesterday I called to talk to mom, and daddy answered the
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His speech has become more
garbled and if he isn’t begging to lay down out of exhaustion, he is begging to
get up because he is in pain, all over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yet when I asked how he was today, he says, “Oh, I’m doing ok
considering…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a trooper, my
dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s always clung to life with such
fervor and enthusiasm, despite the paralysis, tubes, colostomy and bags...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet he usually responds to my “how are you”
question with something fairly positive before asking how I am doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You gotta love His attitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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This year I want to be intentional to savor each moment, conversation, crisis, complaint, every smile, hug, and encouraging word as though it were the last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because one day it will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
day I will feel the pull to call Mother to check on her and ramble on
about all the latest with the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day
I will feel depressed and need to hear her unconditional reassurance of how special and loved I
am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one day I will have to remember that
she is not on the other end of the phone, or the other side of that old
unleveled front door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I’ll have a
life time, though, of “gosh I’m so glad I did….”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'll have a heart full of memories and love stored up for the empty
times when I can’t feel her physical presence or hear her sweet voice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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As my favorite author Nika Maples just
reminded me in a blog post <a href="http://www.nikamaples.com/a-time-for-every-purpose-why-i-am-not-teaching-this-year/">“A Time for Every Purpose: Why I Am Not TeachingThis Year”</a>, I can’t do it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But right
now I can do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I can worship and love God with everything that I am. </span>I can love, care
for, and savor this time with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I can release Lydia back out into the public school world. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I can enjoy this last year with Andrew at
home. And I can, without guilt, be good to myself, taking time to just breath.</div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-37842540681511718192013-08-15T08:16:00.000-07:002013-08-15T13:50:06.371-07:00The Forgiving "Vine"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpIfM_CqwbjGG9j_EJQBpfbn5fimKcYbKL5fgwGHn5UQBsCrWVDFd1hHfv0N47ttNFZa0O8YzGtxDCL-XufV14z76SK50-GQJn3wvZEwBbmQgBdw14SGdrXRqbjfNec-xOloPJqvWX30/s1600/tumblr_lnqxnrNxVM1qcrsn7o1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpIfM_CqwbjGG9j_EJQBpfbn5fimKcYbKL5fgwGHn5UQBsCrWVDFd1hHfv0N47ttNFZa0O8YzGtxDCL-XufV14z76SK50-GQJn3wvZEwBbmQgBdw14SGdrXRqbjfNec-xOloPJqvWX30/s400/tumblr_lnqxnrNxVM1qcrsn7o1_500_large.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He will turn my mourning into dancing.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">During my fast this week, I did some writing about forgiving. I was too insecure to get up in front of the church last night to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> speak, imagine that! </span>But I can write today from my safe place, and say quite openly that giving the Lord my full attention during those three days was life changing. I wouldn't trade the intimacy I had with Him for all the gourmet food in the world. The specifics of who I needed to forgive, I’ll keep
private.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the wisdom God gave me
is what I’d like to share.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As much therapy as I’ve been through, I can say that God has
helped me do some major forgiving to those that hurt me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But just as God forgives me every day, I’m
realizing that for my own sanity, I’ve got
to do that for others. What I’ve realized is that the same people that
hurt me in the past, have continued to wound, scar and reshape my future.Over and over again, its like a repeating "vine" segment one of my kids might post on the internet. Really, none of us are different in our own screw ups, though. In fact God has to watch all of us daily repeating "vine" like behaviors that He'd love to interrupt the cycle of. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, God reminded me that this cycle of sinning and forgiving was the consequence of living with imperfect families, friends, and
even the Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Just as I don't want a credit limit on His grace to me, I better be willing to up the grace I extend to my own. I wish that were as easy as posting a "vine" on forgiveness...</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">God began preparing my heart for the fast a week ago when he
showed me Psalms 50</span><span class="text"><sup> </sup></span><br />
<br />
<span class="text"><sup>7 </sup>“O my people, listen as I
speak.</span></div>
<div class="line">
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">Here
are my charges against you, O Israel:</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">I
am God, your God!</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>8 </sup>I have no complaint about your sacrifices</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">or
the burnt offerings you constantly offer.</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>9 </sup>But I do not need the bulls from your barns</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">or
the goats from your pens.</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>10 </sup>For all the animals of the forest are mine,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">and
I own the cattle on a thousand hills.</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>11 </sup>I know every bird on the mountains,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">and
all the animals of the field are mine.</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>12 </sup>If I were hungry, I would not tell you,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">for
all the world is mine and everything in it.</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>13 </sup>Do I eat the meat of bulls?</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">Do
I drink the blood of goats?</span><br />
<span class="text"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><sup>14 </sup>Make
thankfulness your sacrifice to God,</b></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">and
keep the vows you made to the Most High.</span><br />
<span class="text"><sup>15 </sup>Then call on me when you are in trouble,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">and
I will rescue you,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text">and
you will give me glory.”</span></b></div>
<br />
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</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The greatest sacrifice I can give my Father is praise…just pure thankfulness regardless of what I'm juggling. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
in the passage, He even told me why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
He could rescue me and I could turn around and bring the honor right back to him for
what he’s done.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I get pretty riled up and even erect "I don't hear you" walls, when well-meaning people throw out simplistic answers to
complex situations. But for the Spirit to show me in scripture that what He really wants above
all is my thankful heart…that got my attention.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Father God, I know you’ve shown me this week that the most
desirable sacrifice I can give is to praise you…always and forever. But I’ve
been asking myself how I can praise you when I’m angry...depression, disappointment in people,
bitterness for things not being different, self blame, and shame...perhaps those are the consequences of holding on to
grudges?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe with
forgiveness will come a fresh anointing of a thankful heart. Surely then, my spirit will lighten and praise will come
easier, my sweet sacrifice of praise…to you. Yes, that is what you truly want
from me! </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Help me to see myself and others through your eyes and then forgive, Lord. And may you turn my mourning into a life-long dance that honors you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-73689268404305627222013-08-13T07:01:00.000-07:002013-08-13T07:34:32.414-07:00Fasting ~ The Hungry Heart<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Well, its day two of my all church fast about forgiveness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was afraid to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I’ve tried many times to fast, I’ve
never been able to complete the three days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anticipation of meeting with the Lord on a level that surpasses any intimacy
I’ve ever known…that’s what has caused me to forge ahead of my fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anticipation of revelation, understanding,
and freedom as Holy Spirit whispers to my spirit, knowing what I need, what I
crave more than food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because through communion
with my Papa, that hunger is filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
be satisfied, thankful, and full of praise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At least that’s what I’m hoping for. So eagerly, like a little child, I’m
waiting for my exquisite event with Him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I half expected to wake up this morning famished and exhausted,
but instead I woke up extra early, ahead of my alarm, and again…expectant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stepping out in trust just to let go of food
seems such a silly thing, but I’m into anything that will bring me true
joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went outside with my coffee in
hand to greet my Father with an empty stomach and a hungry heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Psalms 50 I read something I thought was profound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God told David
that he didn’t care so much, didn’t even need his elaborate, extravagant animal
sacrifices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I own them all anyway,” he
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"What I really want is your true praise
and thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Call on me during your
hard times so that I can rescue you…and then you can give the glory to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">" P</span>raise is
the real sacrifice He desires, at least that’s my street-wise understanding
of what I read.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it’s true, praise is a sacrifice, especially when life is
disappointing me and I can’t see a way out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because praising God in spite of, requires me to give up a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to give up expectations, and my controlling
need to plan and fix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to give up
my natural instinct to worry, and surrender to the blunt truth that I’m not in
charge. No matter how much manipulation I maneuver, I can’t “make” things
happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True heartfelt, soul - baring
praising God in all things, for me, means walking away from my right to complain and live in fear<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">. </span>Just the thought of exiting off that familiar road, feels like I’m leaving my security.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the Bible
speaks truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tend to blow off things
others write, especially authors who appear to have, ahhhh, less soiled lives,
thinking <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘yeah, yeah, yeah, they just
don’t get it’…but these scriptures are the real thing. And they are piercing me
clean through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s like He’s saying to me…"even more important than you
having money to tithe lavishly, I want the most valuable sacrifice you can give
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want your praise now, your
thankfulness during the ‘awful awful, I will never be free of this,’ times. I
want your unconditional love, Kerrie, that only you can surrender over to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And by the way…in return I can’t wait to
rescue you so you can love and praise me even more.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m thinking that forgiveness is going to tie in somewhere
during the fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it will more
naturally flow out of a thankful heart? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will see…</div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-61744512751710634392013-07-24T11:04:00.000-07:002013-07-24T11:44:54.803-07:00Messages from the Mush Pot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDuzGpCFG_P4NRUtY7UktvaD1JV-CDNL5FISHencmGo-BseD57y_vq3v_bgD33rKefieKgNBdTKz7sByOquFisGheccFmDPPpWeO75A4czO4x-d6h9y8XMiZQCo8r6C1OnBpl8Nfpop0/s1600/5dd64_california_wine_3993976619_09bcf877e6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDuzGpCFG_P4NRUtY7UktvaD1JV-CDNL5FISHencmGo-BseD57y_vq3v_bgD33rKefieKgNBdTKz7sByOquFisGheccFmDPPpWeO75A4czO4x-d6h9y8XMiZQCo8r6C1OnBpl8Nfpop0/s400/5dd64_california_wine_3993976619_09bcf877e6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So here I am God, back again today writing about my offenses
toward you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How arrogant that sounds,
perhaps I should revise that to say I have issues with my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or let’s just get down to the heart of
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like a kicking, angry two year
old who, after sincerely praying for your will, hasn’t gotten what she thought would’ve
been the most profitable of short term solutions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Problem is, I only see short term, and you, ‘ol Wise One, see through to a much grander future than I can even conceive
of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One that, oh my gosh, might not even
have “yours truly” at the center of it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So this pouting two year old is left with a choice to trust you or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s what it really comes down to, God, do I trust
you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will I be satisfied with your
responses to my prayers regardless?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I
really want to follow you -- your not so popular, not so sparkly, follow me no
matter what, will?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can say I’ll be content, Lord, whatever you put or don’t
put before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But logging on to
Facebook, the site where all good things are displayed, I tend to feel less
thankful and more jealous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Summers are
the worst God, and if I’m not careful I fall into the dangerous game of
comparison. That deadly game always brings me down, making me feel less than
the best and brightest, always lacking in the consumable blessings department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lose perspective of my intangible, obscure,
less glitzy blessings that I know are truly priceless.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And writing Lord, back to the business of honoring you
through words, I have some “issues” about
this that I need to discuss too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve tried to be brave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really I have tried to keep getting back up to face life or back on my
knees to beg for your courage and strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve tried to record those things that would be uplifting to others, as
a testimony to your grace and mercy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although,
we both know you’ve sat alongside me as I’ve privately recorded things that will
forever remain just that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because publishing
words, only after the grit and grime have been wrung out is much more presentable
and palatable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus it keeps me looking
cleaner to write <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after </i>the burn of
shame has worn off enough for me to proclaim a higher message.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just want to be pleasing to you Father, but I’m still such a work in progress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The more you reveal to me about the “issues” that need adjusting, the
more I feel as if I’m in the perpetual Mush Pot…that place where I go to
develop character that rarely comes without your admonishment and my sacrifice.
The Mush Pot, not designed to be fun, but a place of…let’s just say revealing,
exfoliating, and sometimes excruciating exposure of the most tarnished parts of
me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s it God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want
so badly to shine <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">untarnished, </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reflecting only you</span>…and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">then
</i>write about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, ask me to write
while I’m in the Mush Pot?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like
yesterday’s writing, it’s not a pretty sight to behold. And it’s humbling. Don’t
ask me to keep sharing what it feels like to be pruned down to a bare, vulnerable
stalk with weeping wounds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unless...I’m wondering if ‘being in the
trenches’ with my nephews, with other wounded, beaten-down souls, doesn’t involve me recording grit and grime in the middle of my own battles. Maybe you’ve
called me to the less pleasant role of recording my Mush Pot transformation. And
just maybe you’ll fashion a sling-shot worthy, Goliath flattening weapon, suited to launch my own
not so smooth, in the middle of being refined, stones.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love you, Lord, and just ask that no matter what you place
in my life, you’ll use it to bring honor to you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There, now how’s that for a happy ending for today<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:) </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll see what tomorrow brings…</div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-20756793809848334382013-07-23T12:37:00.000-07:002013-07-23T12:40:56.354-07:00The Empty Sling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My dear Father, the One that I long to touch and hold, the
One that has brought me through death to life…my God…I love you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve not written in so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel nothing but dread at the thought of sitting
down to face the mess in my head, the accusations of being a hypocrite with a
lot of empty words that never made it off a 2D page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something at the core of me just died right
along with Brandt -- motivation, hope, courage, belief really, that "God living
in me" was ever going to matter on a real battlefield.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart is ripping right now as the awful, awful comes
streaming down my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to
feel this Lord!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to cry or
deal with the stuff that’s suffocated any desire to write about You.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other night I was crying out to touch
you, to know your will for me, to hear your voice and sense a firm direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked you when you were going to quit being
silent to me and I heard, “When are you going to start writing to <i>me</i>?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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I just keep thinking, 'I can’t, God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">' </span>I have nothing to say, no hope to offer anyone
since Brandt’s death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aaron and Brandt were
family, precious little boys that I shared my faith with at different points over
30 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somehow I think, God, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that they needed so much more than words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They needed rescuing by You.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They needed me in the trenches with them
bringing a physical manifestation of You, not words spoken, or worse, printed out on a pretty
blog, available only if you’ve got a computer and a handy dandy Facebook account.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to tell them about you, many
times, I did!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Andrew and Tommy tried to tell them there was
a better way, a way that would lead them to peace, hope, and true love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking back I feel like those attempts were minuscule
compared to the wars that raged in their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Where was their David with a stone that could show the power of the
Living God?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where were <i>you</i> God?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where in the hell was <i>I</i>?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you and I can’t make a difference in my own family’s
lives, then I feel like a farce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit
in my safe home in my suburban neighborhood with a husband that provides for
our three Christian children and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
surrounded with love and encouragement from your Body…from You.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, it’s easy to write about hope, love, and
grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all the words I’ve written or
said over the years didn’t touch them! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t bring You any closer to flattening their
Goliath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My words don’t fit into David’s
sling, God. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just don't…words
from a distance, without action…they’re empty.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kim suggested
maybe I had an offense against you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t really feel like self-analysis right now, but it made me tear
up…like she hit a raw nerve. Maybe that’s why I’ve not been able to put anything
on paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know, but I’ve prayed
about it, even had Charity pray for me Sunday ‘cause I thought that’s what you
wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still don’t feel inspired
though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m only writing ‘cause you and Kim told
me to.</div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-39748297971800102362013-05-22T04:48:00.001-07:002013-05-22T06:17:28.343-07:00Brandt's Funeral - From Tommy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyW3EL6H2qAGCqrcuO8GpVlXNutuxWBkm8G2Bxkf8Wb8bmh1Ztr3jPVjFQlM95jDsI4cLVTWJsugWC5Pe84wxbHnHaO67U9RmX-p708l8Cp1XBFsvd9u-c1GObFOMPEn9OFOropxCFtU/s1600/Purpose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyW3EL6H2qAGCqrcuO8GpVlXNutuxWBkm8G2Bxkf8Wb8bmh1Ztr3jPVjFQlM95jDsI4cLVTWJsugWC5Pe84wxbHnHaO67U9RmX-p708l8Cp1XBFsvd9u-c1GObFOMPEn9OFOropxCFtU/s400/Purpose.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am thankful to Tommy for leading Brandt's funeral last Sunday. His thoughts are worth sharing as I feel they can be helpful to so many others in our country that are hurting right now.</span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We are
gathered today to say our good byes to Brandt Ray Wilks.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On behalf
of the family, I want to say thank you to those who are here to share in this
suffering. Your prayers, thoughts, and
acts of kindness are so very much appreciated.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Brandt was
born December, 2 1982 in Bryan, Texas and died in Toyah, Texas at the age of 30
on May 11, 2013.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Father
God….I pray that you would be here with us today and the days to follow. I ask for a special portion of your spirit,
your comforter. I pray for your
protection—that your spirit would envelope and surround our hearts.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I pray for
your spirit’s guidance. I pray that you would draw us to you, that you would
draw us away from our sadness, from our regrets, from our anger, from our
questions, from the past—draw us father to you.
Father I pray against Satan’s influence.
Give us wisdom and vision to recognize Satan’s attacks in our own lives….open our eyes to see your angels of mercy around us. I thank you for your mercy and grace. Thank you for your power to restore and to
redeem—for your power over death. For
your desire to rescue and to resurrect.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I thank you
for Brandt and for the gift of his life—for the time we had with him. I thank you for the love that he had for each
of us, for his sweet smile. In Jesus name, Amen.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the
past few weeks we have had a chance to see tragedy upon tragedy. Tornadoes destroy homes and lives, bombers
wreak havoc on innocent victims, kidnappers hold victims hostage for years, and
for those of us here, the loss of Brandt’s life. As I reflected on all the tragedy of the past
few weeks, I was reminded that this world we live in is really a war zone. It is a true battleground—with casualties all
around.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As we look
at the last year of Brandt’s life we are reminded that Brandt himself was in
the middle of this battleground.--the physical pain with his back, the
emotional pain of the loss of his brother Aaron.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Life is
hard!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ephesians 6:12tells us…..</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">….our struggle
is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the
authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual
forces of evil in the heavenly realms.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sounds like
a war to me. A war many times we don’t want to acknowledge.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For many
here, the hardness of life may bring us to a point of numbness. A numbness that helps us survive the pain
buried inside. Times such as today may
allow us to purge those emotions-to release the pain we keep trapped
inside. Sometimes that pain is released
with the sobbing in our closets or bedrooms.
Grieving itself just plan hurts.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Brandt’s death
for those closest to him is tragedy upon tragedy. I have no answers—no explanation. I have no ability to take away the difficult
days ahead.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I would
suggest to you that two gifts from God can keep us going—hope and purpose. Satan would
have us believe today that hope is lost. Our God tells us there is hope in the
midst of suffering…</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of the Israelites…held captive for hundreds of years</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of Daniel thrown in the lion’s den</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of Joseph in a well and in prison</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of Noah trapped on a boat in the midst of a flood</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of Moses wandering in the wilderness</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of Paul stoned, imprisoned, beaten</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>The God of Jesus-betrayed, hanging on a cross, buried in a tomb</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="ListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span>That same God—well aware of suffering wants us to hope in him.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Hope that
there will be a day when sorrow is no more.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hope for
the day when all of our mistakes and shortcomings no longer bear consequences</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hope for a
tomorrow that can be less painful than today.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In addition
to hope, we all need a sense of purpose in our lives.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Brandt’s
death causes me to have a heightened sense of purpose for me to be a better
uncle to a niece who has lost two brothers—a better Uncle to Jamie than I was
to Brandt. Jamie recently posted a
picture of Brandt on Facebook holding his new nephew. When I see that picture, I see purpose. Aaron Jenkins and his cousins and their
parents provide purpose. They have
needs. They deserve what all of us can
offer. They deserve us to be family to
them.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We will not
find purpose in the past. We can find
purpose as we look to the future.<span class="text"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text">In
Phillipians 4, Paul says…</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text">This
one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,</span> <span class="text"><sup>14 </sup></span><span class="text">I press on toward the goal to win
the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.</span> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not a
single one of us should leave today without a sense of purpose. I pray that we would all accept it.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of my
favorite country western videos of all time is set to a Garth Brooks song, The
Dance. Lines of the song read:<i> </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I’m glad I didn’t know,</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The way it all would end </i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>the way it all would go <br />
Our lives are better left to chance </i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I could have missed the pain <br />
But I'd of had to miss the dance</i> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the song
we are reminded that when we embark on this journey of life--this dance with
friends and family—brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, cousins, and
spouses-- we could avoid a lot of pain, but to do so would come at a high
cost. We would miss the joy that comes
from relationships.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So conjure
up your fondest memories of Brandt….happy times or funny times, embrace those
memories, hold those memories in your mind:</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Playing
catch, fishing, hunting, playing video games, hanging out, giving him a bottle,
rocking him to sleep, opening Christmas presents, seeing the smile that would
light up his eyes.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Enjoy those
memories, rejoice in those memories, dance with those memories, keep hold of
them and carry them with you….be thankful for those memo<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>ries. They are truly a gift.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you
would, please stand as we close with prayer.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Father we
again thank you for Brandt and for the opportunity to dance the dance of life
with him. We ask for your comfort, your peace, your grace. Fill the voids in our hearts with your holy
presence. Remind us of our hope and
purpose in you. Restore our souls
Father. In Jesus name, Amen.</span></span></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-40832319211265952272013-05-12T14:37:00.000-07:002013-05-14T06:27:53.544-07:00Love Is...Often Too Late ~ In Memory of Brandt<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwF22YLjoC8QFRbgDg11InUPiYfFOMoIuVqSPTBkCJpfa1kX4pkdK2HpBGuaEW0Mdzc9KWeqODAyk_X995V8VStIM8NOPfD67rCqOpmxtuHNQW7Fpn59LS23gaihugV6wG2teRqSiSXbs/s1600/Brandt+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwF22YLjoC8QFRbgDg11InUPiYfFOMoIuVqSPTBkCJpfa1kX4pkdK2HpBGuaEW0Mdzc9KWeqODAyk_X995V8VStIM8NOPfD67rCqOpmxtuHNQW7Fpn59LS23gaihugV6wG2teRqSiSXbs/s400/Brandt+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandt Ray Wilks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: center;">There's a soulful, ghost of a line between
hope and despair, between clinging to a tattered shred of faith, and releasing a
grieving, broken heart to rest in peace. It’s a blurry line that I, and others in my family, have come teeter tottering to the brink of, out of inconsolable disappointment with life.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> This morning, I wailed in agony for the loss of my nephew Brandt, for my own regrets that can never be undone, and for the never-ending stream of multi-generational consequences that have stalked our family.</span><br />
<br />
If only I could have been there to help them through…if I’d
taken them in to live with Tommy and me…if I’d muddied up my young, twenty-something life
to make more of a difference. ‘If only’ echoed stone cold empty in my head as I
sobbed uncontrollably in my friend’s arms this morning. ‘If only’ didn’t help Aaron 14 months ago,
and now, like a sickening déjà vu, I hear my mind screaming the same useless
words for his brother Brandt.<br />
<br />
Oh Brandt, little Brandt. I know you cherished Aaron who was
so much more than your big brother, but a father, a mother, your protector, and
your best friend. He’s always watched
over you and loved you, until last year when he broke your heart with his
death. I’m so sorry sweet boy, I’m so
sorry for your pain. I’m sorry I failed to reach out more and that I didn’t
help you find a way around the internal hell you endured. If only...<br />
<br />
Thank you, Brandt, for the compassion you always showed, for
the way you bravely ministered back to Aaron the last year of his life. Thank
you for your quiet attentiveness to help others sort through the memories after
he died. Thank you my precious nephew, for the comfort and hope you gave me last year…for the kisses on my head and
the huge hugs you encircled me with when I cried.<br />
<br />
Your strength and efforts to keep going while helping others
through the chaos made such a difference to so many, and I never even told
you. And now I find myself speaking too late, when your life is no more, and my words sound more to me like a
resounding gong, or a clanging symbol. Love is…often too late.<br />
<br />
To those of us grieving over the death of our dear Brandt,
and to those who are reading these words in sympathy for our family. Please
don’t wait one single moment more to show compassion and grace to family,
friends, and strangers. Forgive those who have hurt you. Quit preaching,
pointing fingers, and arguing about meaningless religious and doctrinal “issues.” Release your regrets and embrace the present
now, to make an eternal impact in the life of someone through love. Open the
eyes of your heart to see another hurting soul teeter-tottering along that
blurry line between life and death. Its time to simply, <i>Be Jesus</i>.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kBTLQHEeWfKX51N2FBcOmM5hsuI4R8chxU3XTw_WctRMJXd-lV3FcdRpeDOdS0j5w65rg1LsA6E1GxuRuTacO0eKdk_xNtUZna5yXCM4w04B_pZuz42fpDxGtsGibmEcxuRpuGpLEz4/s1600/Brandt+and+Aaron2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kBTLQHEeWfKX51N2FBcOmM5hsuI4R8chxU3XTw_WctRMJXd-lV3FcdRpeDOdS0j5w65rg1LsA6E1GxuRuTacO0eKdk_xNtUZna5yXCM4w04B_pZuz42fpDxGtsGibmEcxuRpuGpLEz4/s400/Brandt+and+Aaron2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aaron and Brandt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="chapternum">1 Corinthians
13: 1-7<b> </b></span><span class="text1cor-13-1">If I could speak all the languages of
earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I
would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text1cor-13-2"><b><sup>2 </sup></b>If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of
God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I
could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text1cor-13-3"><b><sup>3 </sup></b>If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed
my body, I could boast about it;</span><span class="text1cor-13-3"><b><sup>[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20corinthians%2013&version=NLT#fen-NLT-28629a" title="See footnote a"><span style="color: #b37162; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">a</span></a>]</sup></b></span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text1cor-13-3">but if I didn’t love others, I
would have gained nothing.</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="text1cor-13-3"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span class="text1cor-13-4"><b><sup><span style="font-size: 9pt;">4 </span></sup></b>Love is...patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful
or proud</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text1cor-13-5"><b><sup><span style="font-size: 9pt;">5 </span></sup></b>or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not
irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text1cor-13-6"><b><sup><span style="font-size: 9pt;">6 </span></sup></b>It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever
the truth wins out.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text1cor-13-7"><b><sup><span style="font-size: 9pt;">7 </span></sup></b>Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful,
and endures through every circumstance.</span></span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-5934130333408939292013-05-02T19:51:00.000-07:002013-06-13T13:49:55.451-07:00Duty Calls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
This evening I walked out to the trash can to empty the vacuum
cleaner canister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chilly wind gusted
around me while bits of rain hung in the air, suspended as if contemplating crying,
just like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tears hid beneath a thin veneer, artfully masked by my daily life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try not to go “there,” ‘cause “there” is a scary
place where I think too hard and catch a brief glimpse into the deeper thoughts
that hover among the tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And tonight like
the rain, I can’t decide if I’m gonna release the sadness and embrace that
desire to finally be where I belong. Like salt in a wound, part of me burns with
disappointment for what was and for what is to come. And I feel a tugging on my
soul to forever join Him.</div>
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I don’t think I’ve ever felt totally connected to this
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I’m an oddity, a genetic
mishap 'cause I don’t fully participate in this world. A current of expectations
has led me along from one year to the next, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m busy, yes, doing lots of mommy duties and
Christian deeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m mostly present and
accounted for, usually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tonight, though,
not so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel the pull and sense
His presence in a way that makes my soul ache to leave this earth.</div>
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Its not that I’ve not had joy along the way, glimpses of
smiles, and contentment that sneak past my longing to be finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do, and I’m thankful for those spontaneous
blessings…Lydia’s
hugs and Andrew’s talk of miracles. Tommy fixed coffee for me this morning
when I over slept, and last night I watched as Luke danced, uninhibited, back to his room. Mom
brought me a roast tonight that I know she’d really cooked for Daddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its not that I don’t see and appreciate those precious
joys, they make me smile.</div>
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But it doesn’t fill me up for long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days more than others I hear myself
telling Him that I’m ready. I often tilt my face upward to scan the dark skies
as though somehow if I gaze long enough, I’ll see him “up there” in the pitch blackness
hiding among the stars. I don’t. Even so, I'm comforted by His intimate presence, knowing that He hears my heart's cry.</div>
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Tonight, I felt the chill of wind and rain along
with an indescribable need to finally rest in my Lord’s arms. Duty called me
back, though, from the edge of eternity, the edge of pure joy, to rejoin my
family who still needed me. Regretfully, I walked back through the door to my temporary
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not without whispering out into
the cold now raining night, “I love you Lord, with all my heart I love you…”</div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-66774561025723764862013-04-14T10:13:00.001-07:002013-05-06T06:40:09.284-07:00The Good Life Lie<br />
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This morning, or rather in the wee hours of this not so fine
day, I tossed around with the beginnings of another headache. Not a good time of course, with three little girls sleeping in the living room, needing to get ready and off to worship this morning. ‘Oh
God, please no, not another one,’ I thought. 'This pain in my head and neck won't fit into today's schedule. Tommy will have to function on his own again…'<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I slept off and on with the dreaded pain escalating to a
full throttled migraine ‘till my alarm rang out its signal for me to get up. ‘No,
this won’t do at all.’ I thought as I rolled over moaning with the need to
vomit. Old fears of ending up like my
daddy, encapsulated within a body that won’t move, slithered back into my
thoughts. He’d had migraines too, most
of my life, ‘till a massive stroke silenced the pain with a paralyzing blow to
his brain. And now I, feeling the
throbbing in my head several times a month, worry that I’ll end up just like
him. No one really ever knew what
happened that awful day, but suspected that recent migraines had been severe
enough to cause spasms in his neck, temporarily blocking the blood flow through
the vessels to his brain.</div>
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The phrase “the good life,” whatever that unattainable
concept meant, rolled around in my head a few minutes ago, mocking me for my
faith in God. Where is this “good life,”
Lord? This life <i>isn’t</i> good. The
circumstances around me and the world are not <i>good</i> today. Even with my
complaining, I felt the Lord’s comfort resting there alongside my bruised
faith and rumpled covers. Prayers for
my own pain relief soon led into prayers for so many others that have most
likely been betrayed by the world’s advertisements for a “good life.” Slide like pictures of them filed through my
mind like movie clips without sound. And
so I prayed as they appeared, as if they were waiting in line with unanswered
questions similar to mine.</div>
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Monique’s family…God please…minister to those remaining in
absolute agony following her death only a week ago. Cancer and chemo had ripped
away the last bits of her young life without mercy or thought to those left grieving.
Now her husband, who had begged you for healing, is left to care for three young
ones, all alone. <br />
<br />
For Matt’s dad, who
miraculously was brought back to life after weeks of existing in a state
somewhere between the living and the dead. After a tremendous tug of war, the
living won out and he was brought home. But not without sacrifice, and no where
near completely healed. Though
thankful for his spared life, fear and anxiety remain behind as they face an
unknown future.</div>
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Father God, for the families of our Kaufman County DA, his
wife, and his assistant, gunned down just weeks ago…they are left with fear,
anger, and unimaginable, heart- rending grief.
It sears clear through the children and friends, to the community left
to seek justice from this senseless nightmare.<br />
<br />
For my mom, Lord, who has gotten up each
morning and gone to bed each night the last 28 years, feeling the full weight
of responsibility for Daddy’s life within her hands. Lord, her body and spirit are aching with
fatigue from the load.</div>
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On and on the faces needing prayer came to mind till I
believe God spoke clearly to my heart about some things. I believe He let me know that the good life
is not going to show itself within a trouble free existence. It’s not a mirage of carefree, problem free, politically
perfect, “I have everything I need to make me happy,” world. Somehow I need to
reconcile the false belief that goodness and joy only follow after circumstances
have adjusted to my liking. Believing in God and loving Jesus, don't provide
stress free living, or steer me clear of the evil in this world. "Goodness, or rather I," He said, "am found within the pain." </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Goodness was shown within the loving words spoken publicly by my heartbroken friends Karen and Merilee during
Monique’s funeral service yesterday. It bloomed
within the ICU room of Matt’s dad, as many people praised God
regardless of outcomes for his life. Goodness was found recently at the Kaufman court house as people gathered around to pray not only for justice, but for salvation for those that killed Mark Hasse and the McClelland's. And I too, experienced the good life just yesterday while pushing
a grocery basket for my mom up and down the aisles of Brookshires, as she
slowly filled her basket with items needed for the week. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I believe God is telling me that the good life is possible. There's goodness
in knowing Jesus is lying down beside me during a migraine, or even paralysis should that happen later on. There was goodness in Tommy’s quiet service this morning as he got the kids ready for
church without my help. It was shown while Andrew played his guitar during worship last Sunday morning. Instead of giving up, he’s graciously allowed God to lead him around his disease, without bitterness for what was lost. The “experience of goodness” that we all seek, is an
intangible attitude about life that will allow Monique’s husband, with God’s help,
to raise his young family without their mom. It will allow Matt’s dad to thrive
in spirit and his mom to provide needed care no matter what level of health he
achieves.<br />
<br />
I’m thinking that having a “good life” isn’t going to just
appear after things in life have gone my way. It’s not something to hope for
with job promotions, retirement plans, or even healing of those I love. It’s not meant to wait ‘till after the
funeral is over, or when the killer is brought to justice, or after my abusers
have confessed their sins against me. It isn’t something to anticipate in the
future when such and so happens. It's born in the present, from an attitude of acceptance of life as we know it. It entails “seeing” the beauty of God’s
spirit living, breathing, and reproducing unexplained joy, peace, and hope around,
through, and in spite of the present circumstances we now find ourselves in. </div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-16146480081398476842013-04-12T08:19:00.002-07:002013-04-12T18:34:14.725-07:00On Strike Till Further Notice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I need to write so badly Lord…please give me words so that I
can empty my soul of the emotional turmoil that binds me like a strait jacket. My world is a blur such that I think I just
numbed out yesterday. My body is still
doing all the motions, my mouth speaks words that make the outside appear to be
functioning. But inside is reality. Inside
there is chaos and fear. Inside my mind
is a whirl wind, no, more like a tornado, of thoughts that are exploding.<br />
<br />
It’s odd how you start your week with a plan or at least an inkling
of what is or should be. I ask my Father
for direction, courage, and strength to do what He’d have me to do, with grace.
But this body and mind He’s provided to “do”, has done give out.<br />
<br />
The list of needs for Tommy’s mom and my parents multiplies
with each passing year…but so do the needs of our children. I’ve long given up on “me time” or “Tommy
time.” That’s not even an option this
week or even this year. I
waved my white flag, surrendering non-existing rights to God and said, “use me.” But today I’m at a loss of how to
continue. It seems that by the end of
each day, Tommy and I’ve patched up as many leaky holes as we can, but waking
up today I can’t face any more. Even with each child and parent seemingly
waiting patiently, there is only so long one can push back a building flood
behind the dam. Until something or someone, cracks.<br />
<br />
Despite getting dad a home physician, he has four specialist
visits planned over the next few weeks, colostomy surgeon, urologist, ear nose
and throat doctor, kidney doctor, Mom can no longer take him on her own. Her
aide can help some, but that costs more money, which mom wisely tries to
conserve. Plus my pride and need to be there for her, kicks and screams in
tantrum at the reality that the aide now spends more time now with my parents
than I. She has become a part of their
daily life and their dependence on her grows equal to my increasing absence to
physically help them. That in itself has
pierced me clean through.<br />
<br />
Mom has her own waiting list of things that need attention
that will likely not happen. But it’s
not just the physical time required to take care of my parents, but the
decision making, planning, and tremendous emotional support that they need. It
feels like they're within inches of having everything we’ve juggled since
daddy’s stroke nearly 30 years ago, come crashing into a big heap at the door
of the local nursing home. And no one wants that. It would be the end of both of them.<br />
<br />
Tommy’s mom who has managed this last year with such beauty
and grace, has a lot of needs too.
I’ve wanted to step in and help with the last years of her life. We promised to take care of her after his dad
died last year. Her eye surgery this
week and the care she needed afterwards required a sacrifice of time, love, and
physical help. I was thrilled to be able
to finally do something for her after all these years. But in getting closer to her emotionally, I
saw so much more that could be done to make her life better. There is only so
much Tommy’s brother can do on his own. She
has spent her entire life serving others and its time to give back.<br />
<br />
After being allowed to patch a few leaky holes this week for
her, I turned around and saw many more within my children’s lives that were
begging attention. Home schooling, two doctor
visits for Andrew plus getting Endocrine lab work that was five weeks late, STARR
Testing trips to Dallas, camp counselor with Lydia next week, Luke’s upcoming musical in May, costumes for the Hunger
Games senior banquet at church....its only the beginning. Schedules
dance in my head long after bedtime screaming for attention from my brain and leaving
migraines to deal with in the morning. Add in my hot flashes, irritability, and poor sleeping that signal menopause and OMG, I’m forgetting bits and pieces of nearly everything, leaving puddle-like trails of half-fulfilled
results that please no one.<br />
<br />
And money, always money, there isn’t enough to cover
anything. So we throw a little in too
many directions and cover the rest with plastic credit and prayers. Yesterday, after I’d mistakenly left some of Tommy’s mom’s
luggage back at our house, I thought I couldn’t handle one more crisis. But alas, we weren’t finished
yet. An angry outburst from one member
of the family resulted in the destruction of Andrew’s school lap top. What do you do? We used it as a teaching lesson on anger
management and forgiveness…a very expensive lesson. I was proud of all involved after the
flames died out. Satan’s schemes got
turned into a priceless picture of grace.
Though love and forgiveness may have fixed feelings, we were still left
with another leaking hole.<br />
<br />
Feeling a sensation of drowning, I crashed into bed with a
couple of Benadryl for sleep; hearing in my head that regardless of all my
efforts to make a difference, nothing had been done well, wrapped up neatly,
and finished. After crying a bit, I
swore I was going to stay in bed today, on strike till further notice.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-68444155571466748862013-03-25T09:30:00.000-07:002013-03-25T15:44:06.369-07:00Monotonous Monday Treasure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Monday morning monotony taunted me from the kitchen counters
littered with dishes. Where did they
come from? I cleaned late last night and
still they multiplied while I slept as if mocking my efforts to bring order to
our home. Laundry piles were permanently scattered along the length of my
bathroom floor, becoming the last
pit stop, a loading dock of sorts, prior to entry into the waiting machines.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I kicked aside an anonymous pair of dirty socks
and jeans pealed off inside out and left in the floor. Who cares that “someone” would have to turn
them prior to washing. Next I moved aside my "Midnight Muncher’s" crusting dishes
left in the living room, and began the task of making breakfast and school
lunches…once again. “Lord, show me the beauty in all of this, please.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stole a few inopportune moments to flee the ever waiting mess in exchange for a walk. The grey, drizzling
rain matched my mood. Wondering how I’d
manage to face the day ahead, I prayed, or rather mumbled my complaints out
loud to whoever might be listening. “I know there is beauty beneath the rubble; I just can’t see
it clearly, God." Then I remembered
Friday’s adventure with <st1:place w:st="on">Lydia</st1:place>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She’d wanted to begin reading a new book series so I’d
suggested an ancient set of books I’d loved as a child, Cherry Ames. There must have been 20 or so books written
about a 1950’s nurse carrying out her duties and amateur sleuthing
escapades all over the world. I became
convinced this collection was stuffed away in some corner of my mom’s attic. After saying as much to <st1:place w:st="on">Lydia</st1:place>, she became obsessed with
going on a treasure hunt of her own to solve our mystery of the missing
books. Friday finally arrived, and with it,
her much anticipated chance to canvas Mom’s old attic. I’ll admit, I too had visions of finding priceless treasures from my past.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Step, step, step the three of us ascended the attic stairs;
my 75 year old mom first with <st1:place w:st="on">Lydia</st1:place>
following close behind. We put on dust
masks at her insistence, and carried a little lamp to light our way. The dirt was everywhere, literally layers of
it settled into boxes rising up like smoke when disturbed. We must have opened seven to eight boxes, but
sadly, never found the lost books.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were containers full of old rat eaten teddy bears,
dirt smudged dolls with homemade clothes, an old Barbie styling head, and
broken bits of who knows what…but nothing that resembled anything of value, at
least not to me. I could tell <st1:country-region w:st="on">Lydia</st1:country-region>
was disappointed too, but not Mom. She
came to life, dropping years off her tired face as she rummaged through old
“keepsakes”. Climbing over ancient
suitcases, stacked boxes, and air vent tubing, she was persistent to keep going
while making the comment, “Oh, you’d be surprised what I can do!” She made me smile. Poking and prodding, I heard her explaining
the history of many things to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Lydia</st1:country-region>…
a table Daddy had made, a suit case I’d taken to camp as a child…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little mouse with a long tail scurried away in the
corner. It had nothing to do with the
past and was distracting me enough that I edged us back out of the creepy
crevices toward the stairs. I was more
than ready to leave. Yuck! Covered in dirt, I’d found nothing of value. That is until I looked up to see Mom taking
one last longing glance at a box of dried miscellaneous flower corsages left over from
my special occasions. I saw her eyes come to life and perhaps even a smile on
her face. She was…happy?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hadn’t seen any treasure amidst the dirt and rat infested
old boxes. I hadn’t found what I’d come
for, the books. But mother…seeing her
made me think. She’d looked beyond the
years of accumulated dirt and disorganized piling of their old junk, to see
something much more valuable than order, cleanliness and belongings. She’d climbed into the attic back in time to
an older life. Opening a window into her
past, she’d glimpsed a memory of joy.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe it was this that the Lord showed me in and around
my mutterings of dread for to<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7934180926793577401" name="_GoBack"></a>day. Blow off the dust,
Kerrie, like your mom was able to do.
Look past the piles of dirty clothes and ignore the daunting stacks of
dishes. Perhaps then you’ll see an abundance of
Monotonous Monday, attic full of messy memories, now in the making. </div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-8295053272133876902013-02-17T19:10:00.000-08:002013-02-19T04:45:17.426-08:00To Do Or Not To Do<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">During this season of Lent, I've felt the need to detoxify from Facebook
and Photoshop, both culprits that have recently been gouging massive chunks out of me. Their subtle lure has been an enticing and socially acceptable means of escaping my “to do” filled life. Each day I’ve hoped to finish an over flowing list of needs while still finding time for myself. Although I don’t have a ready bucket list
waiting to put into action, I’m sure I could come up with something. However,
the sun sets in the evening, and with it, any chance of "me" time. I finish the day only to fall into bed, sleep,
and wake up to more racing throughout the day. Like the descent of dense grey fog, a very sobering thought has settled itself into my consciousness
these last few weeks… <i>‘I WILL NEVER BE FINISHED!’</i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">And so breeds resentment and frustration, which are nice
words for passive anger that stews and simmers unbeknownst by me. The poisonous mixture seeps into my thoughts, leaving behind the stench of discontented complaining… like a virus really,
contaminating the good and obscuring the sweetness that I know still lives beneath monotonous days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The idea that I could control some part of my day
has become an unattainable luxury, a mirage of hope that’s vanished with the coming-of-the-fog. So I’ve found myself lost in
cyber world, often oblivious to the need to fix dinner, tuck kids into bed,
begin school in the morning…sometimes I just don’t give a care so I escape. But just like any drug of
choice, the high I get from it crashes quickly into a reality of laundry,
dishes, school, and parent needs. There are
no Facebook fairies to magically wave the daily duties away while I vegetate online, and I can’t Photoshop away all of life’s
blemishes. Nope, it’s all there waiting for me, but with
less time than earlier to complete, and lots more agitation with everything and
everyone, including myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The detoxification process has been painful the last few
days, leaving me with loneliness and a longing for something. I’ve spent more time reading in the Bible
though, and praying, asking God to draw close while I lay down the cyber
crutches. The Lord has reminded me that I do have choices in each day,
to kick and scream like a two year old, or to display a spirit of submission to His plans. Although my two year old is usually the first responder, a more mature and Christ-like spirit says, "Yes, Lord; I’ll go where you lead."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So was my state when I went to see the dentist on
Wednesday. After telling me I needed a
couple of crowns in the next few months, he talked to me about his dad who had
been put in the hospital last week. His
parents and mine have known each other since...before I was born. After telling mom about it, we decided to get
them up to the hospital to see their old friend. It wasn’t convenient to leave in the middle
of Lydia’s and Andrew’s lessons on Friday, and it took a good bit of effort from
mother to get them dressed, in the car, and over to my house. Mom’s always had a saying that
sometimes you just “do”. You do what has
to be done when it’s important and then deal with any fall out later. We determined that this was one such important
time, to lay aside any practicality and “just do.” So we did<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Minus my GPS, I managed to drive mom and dad's 15 year old car to the unfamiliar
hospital and park in a handicapped place. After we slowly extracted daddy out of the car and deposited him into
his chair, I wheeled him up to the rehab unit where their friend was recuperating. I stopped myself from smarting off to the
nice aide behind the desk when she asked sweetly if I was bringing Daddy in as
a new patient. Thankfully, she couldn’t
hear my not so nice thoughts. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">‘<i>No he isn’t
new, he’s 80 years old and he isn’t patient at all lately. You really don’t
want him here. He’s got an attitude and has spent enough time in rehabs over
the last 27 years that he’d think he was qualified to run this place. Yes, he may look like he needs rehab, but as
bad as he looks, it’s as good as it’s gonna get missy, but, thanks for
asking.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We found their friend dining in the sun room and parked
dad next to him. It made me sad, to watch mom and dad with him, thinking about all they’d been through the
last 48 years together. There they were, not in a deacon's or elder's meeting as in an earlier life, but parked side by side in wheelchairs swapping rehab stories. While Lydia and I waited patiently, it occurred to me that I was sitting in the presence of three inspiring
warriors; warriors that had never given up; Godly people that have kept going although
their current circumstances didn’t reflect any semblance of what <i>they</i> might have wanted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Soon it was time to leave. The efforts to transfer dad back into the car were just as tedious, but
we eventually buckled everyone back in safely and headed east. As I wove in and out of busy I635 traffic, I felt
a tremendous weight of responsibility, more than I thought I could handle. To the right was my paralyzed dad, towel in
lap, trying to eat a burger with one hand.
In the back was mom, newly diagnosed with two leaky heart valves-- full of
child-like trust that I’d get them home without a hitch. And Lydia…my little 10 year old trooper has
grown up sharing her mom with others. She still had lessons to finish out the week. '<i>Lord,’
</i>I thought<i>, ‘I can’t finish this
life! I’m not qualified and I’m
overwhelmed right now. What are you thinking about?’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Glancing back at mom though, I was reminded of the previous
Wednesday that I’d come over after seeing my dentist. She had greeted me with a
huge blessing. Short on money, time, and energy, I’d committed to too many
things again and couldn’t get it all done. She had managed to go to the store and bank
for me and put together a very organized sack full of cards, cash, and candy for the
kids Valentines’ Day. It had saved
me hours that I’d not had to spare. But more than time was this amazing blessing
of having my mother still in my life, loving me, believing in me, and taking
care of me as her daughter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">After thanking her a few times, she hugged me tightly and said,
“Kerrie, we do what we have to do because it’s what we’ve been given. The only choice we have is in how we respond
to what comes our way. We’re a team you
and I, and it will work out.” Then she
said, “I’m so thankful I was able to help you today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">With mom’s recent diagnosis of heart trouble, I know the ebbing
and flowing of our relationship of mom and daughter will continue to shift,
settle, and then shift again. My prayer
is that during this Lent season that God can show me the beauty of service as I’ve
seen in the lives of those three warriors. That I’ll lay down fear and resentment, and like mom, embrace the love of “doing” in such a way that blesses all those precious souls that God has entrusted into my
care. </span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-46250011349440710782013-02-04T20:21:00.001-08:002013-02-07T04:09:38.858-08:00Ready or Not, Here I Come!<br />
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I looked at my empty pill compartment last week. It was time to fill the tiny cubicles with my daily supplements, mostly a mix of over-the-counter vitamins, fish oil, minerals....all except my anti-depressant. That little spherical substance has had me in
a love - hate relationship for years. Although I detested becoming a repeat user of psychiatric meds, I was relieved and indebted to my doctor for prescribing it after Andrew was diagnosed with FSGS. And as expected, that tiny pill balanced me out
within a few weeks, lifting a suffocating curtain of darkness. </div>
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It’s been nearly three years since I began swallowing my daily mental health allotment. I’ve recently felt called, though, to exchange its crutch-like influence for total dependence on my Father. Ready or not, I wanted to throw aside my cane and hear my Papa say..."Get
up and walk, girl, your faith has made you well.” I’ll not lie though. My rational side has spewed forth logical excuses for
not releasing me in absolute abandonment to His healing.</div>
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The miracle I’ve experience on my lower back, however, has encouraged
me. Recently, I’ve heard Him
whisper to me in the early dark mornings, “Run, Kerrie, run!” Even today, I broke loose during
my time outside. What an experience to
jog down the street without wincing in pain, or merely limping along on the worst of days.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now, I want to close my eyes to the rational once more, to experience
His healing power over my depression. It's not an
easy thing for me to let go of the pills that’ve worked to stabilize me from landing
in a permanent pit of despair. I’ve been reasoning though, if he's relieved
back spasms and swelling, then surely He's able to fix the chemical imbalances in my weary,
emotionally spent brain. </div>
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But this isn’t merely
about giving up prescriptions. I just long for more, that’s all...more of Him and of opportunities to walk out a life of faith, hand in hand with the Greatest
Healer ever known. My heart cries out, <i>'Here I come, Papa! Watch
me straddle the edge of this old raft, balancing one foot down, with the
other poised and ready to sprint across the waves to you!'</i> Soon, I hope to see a vacant pill compartment on my counter and an abandoned raft drifting past shores of doubt.<br />
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7934180926793577401.post-73082896208614598842013-02-03T09:21:00.000-08:002013-02-05T18:02:49.825-08:00Reporting for Duty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">After my recent experience with the neighbor, I felt vulnerable, betrayed, and rather angry. I felt like someone had just gouged another rut in my abusive past, and I wanted to lash out with a whip. But after going to hear Todd White speak, I think
God broke through with quite a revelation for me to simmer on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Going to war against my accuser satan, might look a bit
different than I’d earlier thought. Todd kept talking about keeping my eyes focused on my Father. If I did that, then the His love would readily
flow into my daily actions towards others. He mentioned several times about loving the Lord with all my heart,
soul, mind and strength, <i>and</i> loving
my neighbor as myself. What better way
to deal with my old enemy than to turn what he’d meant to crater me, into
victory for God? At one point I felt His eyes piercing through the crowded
room engaging mine…as if God was sending me a direct message through this
humble prophet… ‘<i>Kerrie, if you wanna get
back at satan, love your neighbor.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All this got me to think’in. What if being a shield holding warrior for the Lord means something
other than using force as in spears or violence. What if God’s weapon of choice, post Old
Testament with coming of Jesus, is love, healing, restoration…gifts that flow
out of a spirit led life in such a way that we're a pure reflection of our
Lord? Those are tactics that Satan can’t
touch, because he's got no defense against that which he doesn’t understand. He’ll never win against spiritual gifts that
come from knowing God intimately. What
that love looks like or how the war plays out in my life, I’m not sure. Except that <i>if</i> I cling so closely to Him in my worship each day, then I should
be confident that <i>He</i> will be represented, not me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I’ve been asking God to show me how to listen to Him. I know He speaks ‘cause I’ve heard Him many
times. But that means being
intentionally still to hear...while I’m reading the Bible, praising in song,
crying out in prayer. I believe that’s
the heart of why I am compelled to write; to be an out pouring of God, whose essence is temporarily molded into
words that I’m confident He’ll supply. If it’s from Him, then He’ll give me the courage to be transparent in
sharing those thoughts with others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s not about me, appearances, or opinions from other folks.
It’s not about Likes on FB, comments left on a particular post, or seeking admiration. It’s about allowing His image to be paved
over past ruts 'n pot holes that no longer define me. It's about honoring God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have an impending sense that time is short, maybe my personal
time on earth, or maybe the end of time as we all know it. But regardless, this princess warrior is answering
His call and reporting for duty.</span><br />
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Kerrie Riggshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00392494548065218908noreply@blogger.com0