tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64184498506134774492024-03-13T06:12:38.702-07:00To Live For Him...it's all because I have Him. The One who knows every ounce of sadness in the furthest corners of my heart. The One who loves me with all the love that my aching self screams for. The One who created me, who found me, who redeemed me, who breathed His own life into my dead spirit and gave me hope. Jesus.nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-7085255798738467302012-02-03T09:57:00.002-08:002012-02-29T10:48:24.025-08:00<img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 118px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRjygwhSrM34XqYPiy4tKSQawY46R6VK2cBqQ1giz-x9dCptOMqB1-bmFGxjGO3UJaGed2xrWeDJ4AQyiT2328GCZ-C_yJKS0BF1rYRLfhN93TVngWOg3eWPhk1dpmiPd68SX9Gxxl3g/s320/IMG_7069-3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714631185840110610" /><a href="www.nmetzlerphotography.wordpress.com"><br /></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzjwBXsjuie1PtNzB33ZpTBu8huQ0ZwEEbfs94SCRNUkcj89Sh2xAEF0WXfJyKS403NEiHDojeJ6V9dFCzkfBpfR9ldbonEj0yFgqmIJg4BfwSkDLNdieKxecLZbWZy6Afd_9SvcmgTc/s320/IMG_6873.JPG" /><div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-78142958780858306742011-10-31T16:20:00.001-07:002011-10-31T16:21:59.951-07:00Don't be fooled...My book reviews had to be posted here because I haven't changed over my blog site on my bloggingforbooks account. However, I am still officially moved to <div><br /></div><div><a href="http://nmetzler.wordpress.com/">www.nmetzler.wordpress.com </a></div><div><br /></div><div>Come and see me there! </div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-27681174538886147272011-10-31T10:28:00.000-07:002011-10-31T10:41:06.212-07:00[Close Enough To Hear God Breathe] book review<a href="http://www.chrisvonada.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/close-enough-to-hear-God-breathe.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 335px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.chrisvonada.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/close-enough-to-hear-God-breathe.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Close Enough To Hear God Breath</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" > Greg Paul</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I love the title of this book. The subtitle is just as catching... <i>the great story of divine intimacy</i>. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I started reading it and just before I was going to sigh in frustration, I came to this sentence:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>"Whispering through every Scripture, and into the intimate details of my own daily experience- for it is his life he is breathing into me, and my life he wants to redeem." (pg. 19)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >From that place forward I was hooked. Greg Paul takes you on a journey through stories and scripture, to the heart of God's relationship with his people. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It's a beautiful story. One that every Christian should understand a version of. The story of a God who is great and powerful... who willingly came and died for His people... and who chose to never leave them alone. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><i>The Father. The Son. The Holy Spirit. </i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Do you know and understand the three parts of God? This book will give you a glimpse. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >:: I received this book in exchange for my honest review through <a href="http://www.booksneeze.com/">BookSneeze</a> blog program. ::</span></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-50220514045059250402011-10-31T09:29:00.000-07:002011-10-31T09:47:00.024-07:00[A Sound Among the Trees] book review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6i-t_5e3WLgj6O0DxZwm0oayf2VPGGEN65V7vjTEm7yTKAfOlfHNd3BZnkyqfeJp3rVKR8B0q_8WHz4cbiUsqybL5NihrfGhAITFKKaPX-6E2VfBFPajqInNpkNS_JBfMypV5kWBt6boN/s320/51y5daWCesL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6i-t_5e3WLgj6O0DxZwm0oayf2VPGGEN65V7vjTEm7yTKAfOlfHNd3BZnkyqfeJp3rVKR8B0q_8WHz4cbiUsqybL5NihrfGhAITFKKaPX-6E2VfBFPajqInNpkNS_JBfMypV5kWBt6boN/s320/51y5daWCesL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" >A Sound Among the Trees</span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Susan Meissner</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >This is a story of mysteries. The story of a family line of women and the secrets they are hiding. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Adelaide is the oldest living matriarch of Holly Oak. A woman who believes the home to bear a grudge because of its past. The walls seem to whisper the name of <i>Susannah Page</i>, who is rumored to have been a civil war spy for the North. A traitor to her southern roots. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Marielle Bishop marries the widower of Adelaide's granddaughter. She attempts to form a family with her new husband and two step-children. But Holly Oak doesn't seem like it wants a new mistress. She decides to keep searching, trying to solve the mysteries of the past to give her and her new family a future. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >----------------------</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Here's the deal: this is a well-written book. It truly is. But I have a really, really hard time with books based in the south. (Maybe I'm just a true Yankee at heart.) They just don't hold my interest well. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I struggled to get into it. I usually like to finish a book as soon as possible once I've started it... but this one I kept putting down and forgetting. I mean, like, I completely forgot I was reading it. Then I would see it and remember, "Oh, yeah. I think I'm in the middle of that." </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Regardless. I can't give it a bad rap because I think that a lot of people will really enjoy it. So, especially if you enjoy southern style books... go for it! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(42, 42, 42); font-family: 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">::I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review::</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-38945095971827059942011-10-23T15:29:00.000-07:002011-10-23T15:31:54.349-07:00[wounds]<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; background-color: rgb(243, 244, 238); "><p style="text-align: left; ">Those days were long and dark. Hours spent in sorrow. The time I cried from my house to my in-laws, twenty-five miles away. The time I went running from a friend’s house, fumbled for my keys and shook all the way home. In my living room I collapsed in tears.</p><p style="text-align: left; ">Over and over it happened.</p><p style="text-align: left; ">I would pull myself together, lecture my emotions, fight my sorrow…and end up beaten and bruised and heartbroken.</p><p style="text-align: left; ">I can’t tell you how long I hid the truth from myself. The time blends together. Maybe it was a year. Maybe more.</p><p style="text-align: left; ">There is one thing I can tell you though. <strong>God didn’t leave me there.</strong></p><p style="text-align: left; "><strong><a href="http://nmetzler.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/wounds/">[Read the rest of this post by clicking here]</a></strong></p><p style="text-align: left; "><b>In case you haven't noticed, I'm in the process of switching to wordpress. (www.nmetzler.wordpress.com) Take a minute to update your "follow" list! Thanks!</b></p><p style="text-align: left; "><strong><br /></strong></p></span>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-85380665941701013982011-10-21T12:00:00.000-07:002011-10-21T12:01:41.293-07:00[practice.of.discipline]<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; background-color: rgb(243, 244, 238); "><p>When we first got our cows- milking took all of my mental focus to accomplish.</p><p>How to make sure everything in the milk house is ready so the milk goes into the tank and not onto the floor. How to hold the milker-unit just right so it wouldn’t break suction. How to work efficiently enough to make sure there are cows washed and stripped before its time to put the milker on. How to plug everything in. How to tell if a cow has mastitis. How to tell if a cow is ready to freshen. How to stand so that if it kicks, it won’t get you.</p><p>The list goes on. I’m sure you understand…there was a lot to learn and remember. At the beginning we had three milking units. Between my husband and me, it took all of our energy to keep up with them.</p><p><strong>But things change with time.</strong> You learn patterns and efficiency. Things that once took all your focus become second nature.</p><p>This morning as I was standing in the middle of the barn, <strong><em>waiting</em></strong> for the [now] four milkers to finish, I thought about how different things are. In between changing units, I get on facebook with my cell phone. I read blogs. I text people or call them.<em> </em>If my husband is around, I have time to talk to him or steal a few kisses. <em>I have time. </em><strong>Time to be and know and connect and think. <a href="http://nmetzler.wordpress.com/">[To read the rest of this post click here]</a></strong></p></span>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-20000608257030209362011-10-17T13:11:00.000-07:002011-10-17T14:33:56.539-07:00[the.beauty.of.seasons]<div>Every fall I dream of playing in leaves. </div><div>This fall all my dreams came true. And I taught a new set of nieces the joy of crunching piles of brown, orange, yellow and green. </div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfl65IpQLmq1HRqS6_CefyxMRLOWnfa1SEDAW8Qc8s6RfLPyc8I_LlPolf75prNnso4oh2LWwugMNZsjsi7MBn4WceskKaf11pLlKiSZpEQ7R1VEhG6iCWARY7CLwj6SmuzoAx1-KkYs/s1600/IMG_4800.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfl65IpQLmq1HRqS6_CefyxMRLOWnfa1SEDAW8Qc8s6RfLPyc8I_LlPolf75prNnso4oh2LWwugMNZsjsi7MBn4WceskKaf11pLlKiSZpEQ7R1VEhG6iCWARY7CLwj6SmuzoAx1-KkYs/s320/IMG_4800.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664561350900050418" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGy59J0qb5EDxPc9dtsvBcpvOC-qyjDJsD44zHDleQXEkYpwoh8lnOGhCmOwQJCmNSK5UiGLbLQ3gquVM2PzABPVuKOKNR8RufWwb5UOVopNp6g-2sUaQDDp8ZQ-WO7dgO510PdAirCI/s1600/IMG_4807.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGy59J0qb5EDxPc9dtsvBcpvOC-qyjDJsD44zHDleQXEkYpwoh8lnOGhCmOwQJCmNSK5UiGLbLQ3gquVM2PzABPVuKOKNR8RufWwb5UOVopNp6g-2sUaQDDp8ZQ-WO7dgO510PdAirCI/s320/IMG_4807.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664560658869864754" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4RyyF3oiPzYdu1ZlmCXDykSDQwRHqOoS26eoW5MVpFFY3VISR-U1k3rJ3aWeeLJ1f-ejCLmMRm3ameMPCEVhY8JjdXgY5PDmxhsWI1xOlA5ofjxG4J47OectesazbbO4Vfam9GaegiTU/s1600/IMG_4781.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4RyyF3oiPzYdu1ZlmCXDykSDQwRHqOoS26eoW5MVpFFY3VISR-U1k3rJ3aWeeLJ1f-ejCLmMRm3ameMPCEVhY8JjdXgY5PDmxhsWI1xOlA5ofjxG4J47OectesazbbO4Vfam9GaegiTU/s320/IMG_4781.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664560114166477858" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7hY8LVs59nTv7ToSMF0kzkBqD-Zj3ffYrKEZYcTKT8pbsRBquZcP0eDncT46q2f5CcM9u9x4a9NLNDhk7ml7aY7HHlFnnMOEyXtOMVY61AdZMOV9ioYfcgKv367rKLWlKLBnoaJQmSs/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7hY8LVs59nTv7ToSMF0kzkBqD-Zj3ffYrKEZYcTKT8pbsRBquZcP0eDncT46q2f5CcM9u9x4a9NLNDhk7ml7aY7HHlFnnMOEyXtOMVY61AdZMOV9ioYfcgKv367rKLWlKLBnoaJQmSs/s320/IMG_4777.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664559766750871106" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoVqnMROrsDGwLq-8Kg2RztLoNvYhrY8J6SC2pbGuKMuGz92xA3H6vzF5vcBJrW01BBo2OaZuOtfiXP0uU2BxIr0t81xoft7ZSW5CpyD93HB15fZ34fmyRCLw_tNej0PeMCbyXNs0zGI/s1600/IMG_4761.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoVqnMROrsDGwLq-8Kg2RztLoNvYhrY8J6SC2pbGuKMuGz92xA3H6vzF5vcBJrW01BBo2OaZuOtfiXP0uU2BxIr0t81xoft7ZSW5CpyD93HB15fZ34fmyRCLw_tNej0PeMCbyXNs0zGI/s320/IMG_4761.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664559373402047842" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><br /></u></span></div><p class="MsoNormal">[I hear His voice] <b>whispering through every Scripture and into the intimate details of my own daily experience- for it is his life he is breathing into me, and my life he wants to redeem</b><i>. –</i>Greg Paul<i><o:p></o:p></i></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yes, Lord Jesus. Come speak to us now... redeeming, breathing life. Amen and Amen.</span></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">-------------------------------------------</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote>Want to take a mini-walk through Narnia? Visit <a href="http://jlynnethoughts.wordpress.com/2011/10/14/narnia-quotes/">here</a>.</blockquote><blockquote>Need a new perspective on a difficult relationship? <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/10/one-thing-that-helps-any-relationship/">Read this. </a></blockquote><blockquote>Don't forget to be praying... for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=zfXgCx3f_1c">Katie in Uganda. </a></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-49519861417016562422011-10-12T10:02:00.000-07:002011-10-12T10:29:17.184-07:00[a.taste.of.beautiful.]<a href="http://www.blossoms.com.au/uploaded/wedding_flowers/Black___White_wedding_bouquet.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 425px;" src="http://www.blossoms.com.au/uploaded/wedding_flowers/Black___White_wedding_bouquet.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">It happened the way it always happens. Ever since, well, a long time ago. I walked in, looked around for a familiar face. Searching for the spot where I will feel the most special, the most loved, will laugh the most… </p></div> <p class="MsoNormal">Then the inevitable. “We have a place over here…” And once again I’m led away from the ones who make me feel safe. Once again I’m sitting at a table with people that I don’t know. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I lean over and whisper to my husband, “I hate this…” and he smiles that sad smile. The one that says, “I would change the world to make you happy, but I can’t.” So I sit back and look around and no one smiles and no one says, “Oh! I want you! Come here!” Instead I sit alone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then in the midst of my jumbled confusion I hear the voice. <b>The one that I’ve trying to memorize the sound of</b>. An hour each morning and an hour each night, I run my eyes and fingers over the words, <b>listening so hard</b>. Searching for inflection and thoughts. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><i>“Embrace where you are</i></b>.” He says it quietly and I know that if I hadn’t been working at listening, I would have missed it. But I hear it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">What did I have to lose? So I sat back. Breathed deeply, looked at the lady across the table from me and smiled, entering into a conversation where I felt awkward and insecure. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A few minutes later another woman entered the room. She wasn’t like the women around me who were laughing and telling jokes in private circles. She was alone. And because of a strange set of circumstances, I know some of her inside things. <b>The pain that is trying to strangle her. </b>So I stood and walked and smiled and talked. And for a moment <i>I glimpsed something beautiful.</i> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And it starts a chain reaction. Person to person I move. Talking. Not chatting but real talking. Opening and showing and being. <b><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SA">And His voice gets louder and my flesh burns</span></b><span style="font-size:16.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US; mso-bidi-language:AR-SA">. And <i>I see beauty.</i></span></p><span style="font-size:20.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SA"> </span> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s in the girl with the crooked smile who is serving my dinner. The woman across from me who is searching so hard for acceptance. The ladies to my right who lean over to each side of me and <b>cover me in grace</b>. In the tears of a friend who is sharing her heart- right there, in the middle of all these people. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then the truth hits. It really isn’t any of them. <b>It’s Him</b>. It’s me <i>having my eyes open</i> <b><i>to Him</i></b>. And I see <span style="font-size:18.0pt">His reflection</span> all around. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I look up in time to see the bridegroom sweep his bride off her feet and into his arms. Everyone laughs and cheers. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I remember times when he was ready to give up- ready to settle for something less than beautiful- and my heart aches at the joy on his face as he looks down at his new wife, the fulfillment of so many dreams. My childhood friend has grown up to be a man worth knowing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I remember a time when I was ready to give up. <b>Ready to settle for something less than beautiful. </b>And my heart aches with joy. That my King should be so gracious to me, so loving, so patient… someday, someday, <b>when all this flesh is burned and gone</b>- <span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>Oh, God, let the things that are left be worth knowing. </i><span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-91414306704411803592011-10-10T08:23:00.000-07:002011-10-10T09:21:43.973-07:00[on the sailboat] a photographic journal<div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUPWK2VylGPrPWX9i07eQ2MQrFQG7P6MpxdJCMxkxLMQ1Bxb452v4iUz7bKFbqCbvL56YkcWdia2kD455sQkXHGDYwRxKZ-OUCkK8N12R7Qfg163AwDoo1SeFR0LXd_yByr02LMCU8c8w/s1600/IMG_4543.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUPWK2VylGPrPWX9i07eQ2MQrFQG7P6MpxdJCMxkxLMQ1Bxb452v4iUz7bKFbqCbvL56YkcWdia2kD455sQkXHGDYwRxKZ-OUCkK8N12R7Qfg163AwDoo1SeFR0LXd_yByr02LMCU8c8w/s320/IMG_4543.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661885706621474258" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJhRx6TR8gd-Tur1jub4lDewIx_u3sKSNefJdXx5CJyDHr75oDHvzFjwTduC2tFb_ZSk-MA3mVgCdu7UqZROy_NpL0m6n1GYQ75PEEqFMukZvp_b8uI_2KbwzC4wgM7bFy_UoX34evrIw/s320/IMG_4554.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661888076512945458" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXafd2cSU9e4RPkCpqxIy5CbYi8e_VS74XhqY9ovQDZojpSg-tApXYwnTv80dqBZpFxXNREI1Ri8gg6QyyRLl46XM4Vt8wfnlV_K6E2WKl4M2GuzKlksBqe-HiY5BX7gHVOEiACsQlSU/s320/IMG_4589.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661895043813369314" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzP4m_5VGxAsDk2byV2g6BpdGoM-127DXuPlBt4Z1CcD-E4emxpYALNAOBmF8bTdTSvb-bx6UU_rpiKcAExV5QwW2B5B7rvyfF4MkhDI5_EtBcy-sxHfrJOpYGlzF1wkt2K67UrbZx_Ss/s320/IMG_4558.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661890903152367778" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwCoybSJKC-2CT1_Ibw8o-PXxM2D7OUacX08ZJWzDwKajLJHG4sd8TiYLuul0NDMru7i99zZLLT2e1O6RzQn-kXhmrDz0eszZOHbIMgTwz-YYZbpKxhB49gESqPr-VYVf1no8oTh9xvA/s320/IMG_4580.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661892625428642994" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyi8dXcOcRi1lLtz9l-6F7ygnhiDBa5CDnRvvaDmiGuDcJVOpPmfkoN7ziuD0cuQRWtHUuGqZS-EjBgzAb1dDRCQc1lMBujp1CqPYGuGs3uoJiRHI2ygAB4nFv84OYMmLvG1DvtYF-Jw/s320/IMG_4583.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661893346306977266" /><div><br /></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik02o_Pum9nuXC2rngSg9iiOkihWj23PLWK9wvbxF6RE_E3-cy6nGKDIFnF-QV_Fdw9m91eKN8or_y8nUKdOJ5xHZd8I8CAdPIOkUyTTz5gIbU1mdRI1pefkF0ehT9va6sBVe18fZc8mY/s1600/IMG_4561.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik02o_Pum9nuXC2rngSg9iiOkihWj23PLWK9wvbxF6RE_E3-cy6nGKDIFnF-QV_Fdw9m91eKN8or_y8nUKdOJ5xHZd8I8CAdPIOkUyTTz5gIbU1mdRI1pefkF0ehT9va6sBVe18fZc8mY/s1600/IMG_4561.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik02o_Pum9nuXC2rngSg9iiOkihWj23PLWK9wvbxF6RE_E3-cy6nGKDIFnF-QV_Fdw9m91eKN8or_y8nUKdOJ5xHZd8I8CAdPIOkUyTTz5gIbU1mdRI1pefkF0ehT9va6sBVe18fZc8mY/s320/IMG_4561.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661889230887868530" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik02o_Pum9nuXC2rngSg9iiOkihWj23PLWK9wvbxF6RE_E3-cy6nGKDIFnF-QV_Fdw9m91eKN8or_y8nUKdOJ5xHZd8I8CAdPIOkUyTTz5gIbU1mdRI1pefkF0ehT9va6sBVe18fZc8mY/s1600/IMG_4561.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN37OMjEWXRcisdTOHlXJ9PPmBJLyjxlcqexxfIfZBdl2_wMJ7Oc1L_9tLLrCy7tCnIbFKL2xBRHUbFI4pvwR-R3R4hcN4AzbRT4vLhSwNPB6RJ3XQjFRDBx___OIzGNKGtzS-BjGKI6Q/s320/IMG_4585.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661894020175406466" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px; " /></div><div><br /></div></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf0B_9zjDNJHXNZPn2QbMGlqRCW9nRkAjkErQ4eJNvhmoQA3yYkCWQV_yLpUtF4TGthJfG2AQc52_XLkhNhUAMcNDe31koA_jYGFQwGmcffKe-9a5bwTDytyJ36Vmn_5R5v_a94XX0Dc/s1600/IMG_4618.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf0B_9zjDNJHXNZPn2QbMGlqRCW9nRkAjkErQ4eJNvhmoQA3yYkCWQV_yLpUtF4TGthJfG2AQc52_XLkhNhUAMcNDe31koA_jYGFQwGmcffKe-9a5bwTDytyJ36Vmn_5R5v_a94XX0Dc/s320/IMG_4618.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661898758054336242" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The day was beautiful. The company excellent, even when Nate showed up... (that's just for his benefit if he happens to read this) The sunset lovely. The moon on the water, breathtaking. </div><div>Outstanding for an October day in Northern New York!<br /><br /></div></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-65321784687278816932011-10-05T12:49:00.000-07:002011-10-05T13:13:53.528-07:00[The Harvest of Grace] book review<a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSMqzqLmIHWWTFrI3XpidcVUYwtrw5nNztR1mGgofgnjLGmixCh" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 273px;" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSMqzqLmIHWWTFrI3XpidcVUYwtrw5nNztR1mGgofgnjLGmixCh" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Harvest of Grace</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cindy Woodsmall</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not usually big on the Amish genre. Cindy Woodsmall has managed to make something other than sap out of it. Which is why I chose this book for a review. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This book, like the previous two in this series (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hope-Refuge-Adas-House-Book/dp/B0045JK6QA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317844915&sr=8-1">The Hope of Refuge</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bridge-Peace-Adas-House-Book/dp/1400073979/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1317844947&sr=1-1">The Bridge of Peace</a>) is a journey through the Amish life in a "real-life" way. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This story follows Sylvia, a quirky Amish girl, who hires out as a farmhand to avoid her ex-boyfriend who is married to her little sister. </div><div style="text-align: left;">In true Woodsmall fashion, Sylvia's story is interspersed with the characters from the previous two books and their tales are wrapped up in the end, bringing the Ada House Series to a close. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Those who have been waiting for this final book in the series will not be disappointed. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've never liked it when a series depends heavily on additional books for the reader to be satisfied. Woodsmall's books, in my opinion, should be put together. I'd rather read one long book than three chopped up ones. That, however, is just me. Those who enjoyed her first series, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sisters-Quilt-Complete-Cindy-Woodsmall/dp/0307729958/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1317845431&sr=1-5">Sisters of the Quilt</a>, will love this one as well. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was sent this book in exchange for my honest review through <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(61, 40, 27); font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">WaterBrook Multnomah's Blogging for Books program. </span></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-9355083743729247542011-10-04T15:33:00.000-07:002011-10-28T11:58:34.807-07:00[passion]<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">the blood was thick and deep red. almost purple. my skin crawled. my heart ached. I looked up at the man standing in front of me, the man who had just pronounced death to my Savior. “someday you will realize what you’ve done and you’ll wish you had died in his place.” my voice caught as tears spilled and burned paths down my cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">the crowds grew louder. I turned and looked. he was wearing a purple robe, thorns on his head. his face was bloody and I knew that under the robe his body was beaten and raw. I started running, calling his name. “Abba, my Abba…” I stopped short of throwing my arms around him. I knew it would cause him pain. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">he didn’t stop. he drew me close, even as his face contorted in agony. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">“I’m sorry, Abba.” I whispered into his neck. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">his voice came then. rushing and running like a river. <b>“I’m making all things new. Go, tell them.”</b> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">I looked up at his face. he was looking past me toward a field that sat below Golgotha. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">I saw them then. </span><span style="font-size:24.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">hundreds of children playing in the shadow of a cross.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva""> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva"">“Tell them, daughter,”</span></b><span style="font-size:14.0pt;font-family:"Monotype Corsiva""> he whispered in my ear, <b>“tell my loved ones that I am making all things new.”</b> <o:p></o:p></span></p></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Monotype Corsiva'; font-size: 19px; "><b>----------------------------------------------------</b></span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I woke up from that dream back in 2004. I was attending Bible School at the time and we had gone as a school to watch <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Passion-Christ-Full-Screen/dp/B00028HBKC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1317768543&sr=8-1">The Passion.</a></i> That night I couldn't sleep even though I had watched the movie with eyes covered. I finally prayed, <i>"God, let me sleep... I need to get up for school tomorrow." </i>And that night I dreamed. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I had found my passion. It might have been a dream but it wasn't <i>just </i>a dream. It was God speaking. And anytime I close my eyes I can see them. The children playing in the shadow of a cross. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxIqVrmt7eYH83X-gh0yIAdTeSZrdob5Xt1_1ktkbqLPrITblHetov8zxZI43XvXs7ZkXEsaZdfgz_DyFRZ1zApR1jbBIzQ2pIZFMLMFWlY5xl15JNk_JlWhe2orFyiQ89KP6EK0Xzqb4/s320/IMG_4222.JPG" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA6n_LP8buC745ClZsbiNY2K9FeUN8C4nDbTi0Ur-cHgVJi81fVr-214qnCsCh9CqtVPsbIfxr0ury6KR0EA6jeIXEaSYEuMFopLQj0W0bwag6-FUh8_IV5kXnc3JEgJwckNGXy7IWQc/s1600/010.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA6n_LP8buC745ClZsbiNY2K9FeUN8C4nDbTi0Ur-cHgVJi81fVr-214qnCsCh9CqtVPsbIfxr0ury6KR0EA6jeIXEaSYEuMFopLQj0W0bwag6-FUh8_IV5kXnc3JEgJwckNGXy7IWQc/s400/010.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662028320136437522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span">It was the winter of 2005. My floor was littered with graham cracker pieces, icing and candy. And five young girls with smiling and laughter. We were making <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/266123/building-cookie-cottages-pastel-village">"Cookie Houses"</a> and talking about God's dreams for our lives. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I was in the beginning stages of <a href="http://womenofpromise.wordpress.com/">Women of Promise</a>, a mentoring/accountability group for young girls. It has grown and changed since those days but the purpose and heart is the same: to establish a place where girls are challenged to develop a deep relationship with God <i>while they are still young. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>
<br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I've always been passionate about WoP (as we affectionately call it) but the reason goes much deeper than just those five girls. It goes back to my childhood and the confused wanderings of a lonely twelve-year-old girl who longed for something real and deep to sink herself into. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The story of how my journey into God happened is something precious and lovely to me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>The knowledge of a God who calls lonely, confused twelve-year-old girls into a radical deep relationship that is spanning a lifetime. </b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I am <i>passionate</i> about young girls finding that. Finding something real. Not being left to wander aimlessly through a world that entices and pulls and leaves wounded aching women in its wake. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">
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<br /><a href="http://ylcf.org"><img title="A Peek Into Your Passion at ylcf.org" alt="A Peek Into Your Passion at ylcf.org" src="http://ylcf.org/images/peekintopassion.jpg"></a>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-16216513071572990742011-09-16T13:50:00.001-07:002011-09-16T14:36:42.263-07:00[my gifts] in pictures<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FbXzKeIvg_LZGub95F1yOdupASWYDJmL1FRdxnYPv2I_YLMWy50fP0wa3AozfC8yUdtoC95Fo19nOtrb6Mai8rC6sm-en-dZ55lAoR-7QDMxgAkV4hCToHudh6wqoM5_3Ni5Gy4VA5Y/s1600/IMG_3852.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FbXzKeIvg_LZGub95F1yOdupASWYDJmL1FRdxnYPv2I_YLMWy50fP0wa3AozfC8yUdtoC95Fo19nOtrb6Mai8rC6sm-en-dZ55lAoR-7QDMxgAkV4hCToHudh6wqoM5_3Ni5Gy4VA5Y/s320/IMG_3852.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653073528944048578" /></a><br /><div>Amos and Hadassah with one of KitKat's kittens.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgPLsWtaNFF5Z3WasY-Wgixy_RM7uva0aK8Ons8pGAJwIHz9TLaQCDFCAAvvaPiKNv5YKanNsovRWFL_kdn-anYwuBix4dx9yp5L1Q9gHq8YLo9gmBfcviPyj3P9u6QJp0TEGt2JkVHo/s1600/IMG_3951.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgPLsWtaNFF5Z3WasY-Wgixy_RM7uva0aK8Ons8pGAJwIHz9TLaQCDFCAAvvaPiKNv5YKanNsovRWFL_kdn-anYwuBix4dx9yp5L1Q9gHq8YLo9gmBfcviPyj3P9u6QJp0TEGt2JkVHo/s320/IMG_3951.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653071044986176770" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>My journal, Bible and a lovely cup of coffee (in a mug given to me by one of my bests, Litey)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeV3OESHz4B5ZDsCxPnXkXjnMAi6bgf7bxgnlBFGu7eJT8U-hiDmDJEsbPhMewCmOQyXTS3gxEDmwDrvF5N8moyxYMX4Py8mU5L2X5JKeVhGo8cV8R88MWw9mmZkRcZYRnVPj0ZYhG_1Q/s1600/IMG_3854.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeV3OESHz4B5ZDsCxPnXkXjnMAi6bgf7bxgnlBFGu7eJT8U-hiDmDJEsbPhMewCmOQyXTS3gxEDmwDrvF5N8moyxYMX4Py8mU5L2X5JKeVhGo8cV8R88MWw9mmZkRcZYRnVPj0ZYhG_1Q/s320/IMG_3854.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653070036253459858" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>KitKat's kitten. They make me laugh every day.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbrc6ULl3vLaiMucAfxq6GTTfPON2ZV4WUrkisc-pvodKbacKKFSMy-EIbbOY2PzNhiqz5XO5jzLvMUcnUyJkwzme-eDXB7NUvTS_seZcHNxPHBW4EdtrPywi-pKlaPRRmKVDNmm8cUw/s1600/IMG_3942.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbrc6ULl3vLaiMucAfxq6GTTfPON2ZV4WUrkisc-pvodKbacKKFSMy-EIbbOY2PzNhiqz5XO5jzLvMUcnUyJkwzme-eDXB7NUvTS_seZcHNxPHBW4EdtrPywi-pKlaPRRmKVDNmm8cUw/s320/IMG_3942.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653069148449047410" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My dance-floor ceiling. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlQIsUZ94lDRFjDdHNeOKOS7WMdG1WzTdcCU6HnEtr3fSq8r8tPaeIUqb5jOZBAZg_YXXu_U-GVkxgDwfA1TcSqnkmsEp9Q0102OMtx_ILZmkSSMzj1o4VGrrg-DPQFzYx9fM4DSulA8/s1600/IMG_3781.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlQIsUZ94lDRFjDdHNeOKOS7WMdG1WzTdcCU6HnEtr3fSq8r8tPaeIUqb5jOZBAZg_YXXu_U-GVkxgDwfA1TcSqnkmsEp9Q0102OMtx_ILZmkSSMzj1o4VGrrg-DPQFzYx9fM4DSulA8/s320/IMG_3781.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653067695885984386" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Bouquets of oats (from my husband) and my prayer list that I pray over as I wash dishes.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHZUMVsUSYZp4ab11OhihU10Od9NWC6zHPRDbRy-3ivUBBi0owU82ST_FVC6exK6PX_xHof0lPLi39R64P1iNh5e_U7Vi20YDvJKGKHzi6kqs-UiaFK8n2fDfI25ytZC9wRsu_uTctH4/s1600/IMG_3889.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHZUMVsUSYZp4ab11OhihU10Od9NWC6zHPRDbRy-3ivUBBi0owU82ST_FVC6exK6PX_xHof0lPLi39R64P1iNh5e_U7Vi20YDvJKGKHzi6kqs-UiaFK8n2fDfI25ytZC9wRsu_uTctH4/s320/IMG_3889.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653066416405478242" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The beautiful sunset that I went running across the field to capture.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7381b2H0Wd-igvtNdLSiFIfjv6I1-CCO52nOOAFmEVEcgJ0V5gs5FNBaErymdqtRJEkaJf8AYL90KlV41CA0PVaVRu-FMpsMdaZdiunRcrBNq21vVc3BIpsR_l4x0Dy1JCEhkUavpI9Q/s1600/IMG_3872.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7381b2H0Wd-igvtNdLSiFIfjv6I1-CCO52nOOAFmEVEcgJ0V5gs5FNBaErymdqtRJEkaJf8AYL90KlV41CA0PVaVRu-FMpsMdaZdiunRcrBNq21vVc3BIpsR_l4x0Dy1JCEhkUavpI9Q/s320/IMG_3872.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653065497099870450" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dominic helping me pick a basket of apples. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgf8kwoeH8qM9DFN4Ghen2-JkxrJyuLBR5t-dgkZzZtc7-_Q82lgAF_s9lj-fNcfOm97PxNBRhnN5siNiYC6kDhNFLB61-sBtB6tLa4cyJyl1SaJ7Vc1oFrDIMbf3O53t0H6F2DOaAgQ/s1600/IMG_3971.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgf8kwoeH8qM9DFN4Ghen2-JkxrJyuLBR5t-dgkZzZtc7-_Q82lgAF_s9lj-fNcfOm97PxNBRhnN5siNiYC6kDhNFLB61-sBtB6tLa4cyJyl1SaJ7Vc1oFrDIMbf3O53t0H6F2DOaAgQ/s320/IMG_3971.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653063558595207234" /></a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Four little munchkins that spent this morning at my house. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-81996456634422647622011-09-13T10:30:00.000-07:002011-09-13T10:34:05.062-07:00[Hidden Things]<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><b><span style="font-size:16.0pt">Reveal the Hidden Things<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been thinking for weeks now about manna. Yes, the stuff the Israelites ate in the desert for forty years. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It started with a sentence. <span style="font-size:20.0pt; font-family:"Ancestory SF""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><b><i><span style="font-size:14.0pt">Manna today, or I starve</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size:14.0pt">. </span></b><span style="font-size:8.0pt">–Ann Voscamp</span><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And for some reason, God began pulling me with those words. What did it mean?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ann Voscamp explains it as “eating the mystery”, taking whatever it is that God hands you and being thankful for it. <i><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After all, what was it that the Israelites were punished for? Not being grateful. Complaining. Grasping, grabbing for something more- something better. “We want meat!” They whined. So God gave them meat. <i>But while the meat was still between their teeth, before it could be consumed the anger of the Lord burned… and they were struck with a severe plague. </i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Num. 11:33</span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I began watching for what the Bible says about Manna. Why will we starve without it? What is so important about it that to grasp and grab for something different causes the Lord’s anger to burn? Is it just the character flaw of ungratefulness? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I watched, the truth began unfolding… </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>He humbled you… causing you to hunger, then feeding you with Manna--- to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God. </i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Exodus 8:3<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><i>You did not withhold manna from their mouths, and you gave them water for their thirst.</i><span style="font-size:8.0pt"> Nehemiah 9:20</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jesus said to them, <span style="color:red">“I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”</span> <span style="font-size:8.0pt">John 6:32</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>And the Jews began to grumble about him because he said, <span style="color:red">“I am the bread that came down from heaven.”</span> <span style="font-size:8.0pt">John 6:41</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span>And the hidden things began to be revealed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Why will we starve without it? Because it is Jesus, himself. <i>He is our manna. He is our mystery. </i>We have to eat and drink of <i>him. </i>Our bread is every word that comes from his mouth and our drink is his blood that was poured out… and without his Word our spirits starve and without his Blood we die in our sins.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">What is so important about it that to grasp and grab for something different causes the Lord’s anger to burn? <i>Because to grasp and grab for something different- something more- is to turn our backs on God himself. </i>Oh, Lord, forgive me for the times I have reached for something other than you!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is not just the character flaw of ungratefulness, although that is part, but it is also the lack of trust in God himself. That he knows and he gives and he takes and <b><i>HE IS GOD.</i></b> </p><p class="MsoNormal">"Not me. Never me. Never the idols I build in my life. <i>ONLY HIM."</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I must hold all that I love with open hands. I must place all my dreams at his feet. Knowing that my understanding is so small. So insignificant. I must “eat the mystery” with <i>thankfulness</i>. I must take the Manna <i>today</i>, or I will starve.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Reveal the hidden things I was made to know. <b>Take these mysteries</b> and make them simple. Reveal the hidden things you have for my life. Show me your kingdom, what you’re like. I want to hear the music of heaven. I want to see all your inventions. I want to ask and know the solutions<b>. I want to know</b>. I want to sing the music of heaven. I want to make all your inventions. When I’m asked, <b>I’ll say the solution is to know you.</b> –</i><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Laura Woodley Osman “Hidden Things”</span></i></p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-74680433167373219182011-09-06T10:34:00.000-07:002011-09-06T10:35:53.283-07:00[Acknowledgement]<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:24.0pt;font-family:"Ancestory SF"">Acknowledgement <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Sunlight streams through my window. Beautiful life-giving light. [<i>In that day</i>] <i>they will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun for the Lord God will give them light. </i><i><span style="font-size: 9.0pt">Rev.22:5<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:9.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt"><span> </span></span>My journal is changing as I’m learning and growing. My Bible is once again staying open on my living room couch so that I can drink of the living water through out my day. I feel like I cannot drink enough. And I love this feeling of thirst. Like God is close and I can touch him and feel him and know him and drink to overflowing. My shoes slip off my feet as my toes touch holy ground. My hands raise to feel the love of the Father rushing and flowing…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><i>Deep calls to deep<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>In the roar of your waterfalls<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>All your waves and breakers<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>Have swept over me… </i><i><span style="font-size:9.0pt">Ps. 42:7<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:9.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Last weeks Sunday School lesson on Proverbs 3 has been rolling through my mind. The verse I knew so well. One of the hundreds memorized. <b>Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths. </b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>One day it stuck out. <i>Acknowledge Him</i>. Is that not what I have been doing as I fill my journal with lists of blessings? Looking at my life, the good, the bad, the painful, the scary, the beautiful, the glorious… and acknowledging Christ in each part? </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>23. baby calves that look like deer fawns</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>28. canned peaches filling shelves</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>33. fresh apples picked and eaten in fields</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>39. little boy smiles from the seat of a tractor</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>51. tiny barn boots lined up by the front door</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>59. my husband’s name on my caller ID</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>62. nights of no sleep/ for they remind me </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:.5in">of my weaknesses and my need for His strength</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>67. beautiful brides</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>69. twinkle lights in evening shadows</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>70. rainbows at weddings</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>82. soft rain that soaks the earth</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>83. community.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><b><i>God</i></b> in and around and through. <i>I sing for joy at the work of your hands. </i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Ps. 92:4<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>My mind fills with the stories from Sunday. The baby with three holes in her heart. The little girl with a blood disease. The husband with a possibility of prostrate cancer. The mother mourning her buried son. The wife facing another season of chemotherapy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>And then me. With all my own fears and hurts and sorrows. The fact that it was one year ago that I was pregnant. And in a month it will be one year since I miscarried. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Acknowledge Him. Even in pain. That God is the one who created the little girl with holes in her heart. God is the one who understands the complicated diagnoses of blood disease. It is God who has power over cancer and the outcome is His will. God who took that little boy home before he had really even lived. And it is God who knew that I would never carry that baby for more than a month. <i>And He is okay with it. </i>In fact, <i>He has plans and purposes in it. </i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><b>And my job is not to understand it </b>(lean <i>not </i>on your own understanding)<b> but to acknowledge Him in it. </b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>To recognize that <b><i>He is God. </i></b>Not me. Never me. Never the idols that I create in life. Only Him. The one who says: <i><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>I have loved you with an everlasting love…</i><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt"> Jer. 31:3<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>For I am the Lord…who takes hold of your right hand <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span> </span>And says to you, Do not fear, I will help you…</i><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Is. 41:13<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><span> </span></span>For I will pour water on the thirsty… </i><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Is. 44:3<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><span> </span></span>I long to redeem them…</i><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Hosea 7:13<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><span> </span></span>Behold, I am making all things new…</i><i><span style="font-size:8.0pt">Rev. 21:5</span></i><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Acknowledge that this world is just a moment. A breath. A blink. And pain may last for the night. But the living truth is that <b>joy comes in the morning. </b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-39816612614365369672011-09-03T12:26:00.000-07:002011-09-03T12:29:20.052-07:00[Dry as Rain] book review<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVe1quMWwePMGMuJAEuzAqHsovRfqf4tRLgfwrQdzDxGxc59TA6lyvf0CY4YC0KWsxtJmD7a9i_W8k6vI_I0gJI3caLARyRK-aDT4RdS-HYsMOsqs6m20joZNL3DU6f7FGiiy43K7Nso/s1600/dry+as+rain.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 500px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVe1quMWwePMGMuJAEuzAqHsovRfqf4tRLgfwrQdzDxGxc59TA6lyvf0CY4YC0KWsxtJmD7a9i_W8k6vI_I0gJI3caLARyRK-aDT4RdS-HYsMOsqs6m20joZNL3DU6f7FGiiy43K7Nso/s1600/dry+as+rain.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>
<br /><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:22.0pt;font-family:"Handscript SF"">Dry as Rain</span><span style="font-family:"Handscript SF""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">Gina Holmes</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><i>Dry as Rain </i>is the story of a marriage that has split in the face of the ultimate betrayal and is suddenly given a second chance to revive. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">Eric still loves his wife, even though he has hurt her in the worst of ways. Kyra is done with trying. But then an accident takes away the memory of his betrayal and she is looking at him with love once again. Can he manage to win her heart back? Will he be able to keep it once the truth comes out?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I love the title. Just saying. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">This book is decently written. An interesting story line. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I wish that God had a more directly position in the story. But I’m like that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I got a bit frustrated with the couple and how they interacted. But the truth is that I get frustrated with <i>most </i>couples who mention their marriage problems to me. <span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-ascii-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings"><span>J</span></span> So, I take that to mean that this book shows a fairly accurate picture of marriage. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">The ending is rewarding. Not forced. Lovely. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">I received this book from Tyndale House Publishers in exchange for my honest review. </p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-74052506415760239492011-09-03T12:15:00.000-07:002011-09-03T12:17:35.102-07:00[The Canary List] book review<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:26.0pt;font-family:"Ancestory SF"">The Canary List</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center">By Sigmund Brower</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Jamie Piper is a twelve-year-old foster child who is running from something dark. Crockett Grey is a teacher with his own painful past to deal with. But when Jamie comes to him for help, she sets into motion a set of events that could potentially ruin them both. The only hope for them is for Crockett to unravel the mystery of Jamie’s past…before it is too late. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><span> </span>What I didn’t realize when I started this book was that it should be in the category of Speculative Fiction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><span> </span>Here’s the truth: It’s a well written book. Excellent, actually.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span>Here’s the other truth: It is dark. Dark. Dark.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>This book looks directly at the Catholic church and some of the gory details inside one of the richest most powerful organizations on earth. And it focuses on the presence of Satanism inside the church. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Since the novel took some of its facts from actual historical documents there is a level of fascination. However, the reader is left with feelings of darkness that overpower everything else. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I don’t mind things that address the presence of demons. But I do mind when a “Christian” book looks directly at them but does not show just as clearly the other side of spiritual beings. Satan has power, yes. But there was a cross at Calvary and blood poured out that keeps his power in check. And this novel doesn’t show that. In fact, it leaves one feeling quite helpless in the face of demonic leadership. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>There is a quote by C.S. Lewis at the beginning of the book that I wish the author would have taken a bit more seriously. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i>“There are equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i>One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe and to feel an<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i>excessive and unhealthy interest in them…”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>This book was sent to me by Multnomah in exchange for my honest review. </p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-38871156483300648192011-08-16T06:06:00.000-07:002011-08-16T06:32:38.190-07:00[wedding] August 15, 2011<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPih1e7EwPqh9OZEMkOKGkNitRdaxiyPAZlIVFfrZa6n2eEb8GJcDFvF9Ztxx5XooGr-KmD4CpB5MDKU7-QbLFluUuMaiT8LczosdmT1HtkxREttVZuczlt0ZvzJOoTnZLReeAGaEebHg/s1600/205923_2115602524004_1063938237_2416253_1821861_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPih1e7EwPqh9OZEMkOKGkNitRdaxiyPAZlIVFfrZa6n2eEb8GJcDFvF9Ztxx5XooGr-KmD4CpB5MDKU7-QbLFluUuMaiT8LczosdmT1HtkxREttVZuczlt0ZvzJOoTnZLReeAGaEebHg/s320/205923_2115602524004_1063938237_2416253_1821861_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641446097284906594" /></a>
<br />The morning light echos across the Oregon sky. Hot chocolate swirls in my cup. My feet are cold. Very cold! My fingers slightly numb. The cup is warm though and I hold it closer. At this moment I feel young again. <div>My Bible is laying beside me... the verses from Psalms, I John and Revelation still swirling through my head. </div><div><blockquote><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >"I will praise you as long as I live and in your name I will lift up my hands..."<blockquote></blockquote></span></i></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" >How often do I raise my hands in worship? Not enough. It's so much easier to blend. To just close my eyes and say, "I praise you, God." And there are times for that. But there are times to proclaim loudly and clearly that HE IS THE ONE I WORSHIP. To take off my shoes. To fall on my knees. To live recklessly abandoned to my magnificent creator. </span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>"My dear children, keep yourselves from idols..."</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" >The words scrawled across the page beside that verse... "Keep yourself from anything that takes God's place in your life..." Oh, God. So many things. My time is filled with stuff and I never look at all these time-filling things as idols. Dirty sinful idols. Oh, Jesus. Set me free. </span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>"And his voice was like the sound of rushing waters..."</i></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" >I can remember a time when I lived in the place of roaring waters. I want to live there again. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" >God, fill my life with your voice.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" >The wedding yesterday was so pretty. My baby brother with stars in his eyes. </span><i style="font-size: small; ">Oh, Jesus. Let them serve you above all else! Let their marriage be a reflection of your glory. </i><span class="Apple-style-span" >The pictures turned out darling, despite my worrying. I was right. I can do this. Zeke's faith wasn't misplaced. Soon their apartment will be adorned with photos from the far distance place of Meyers Beach, Oregon and people will look at them who have never seen the Pacific Coast and say, "Oh, what pretty wedding pictures." And I will smile. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >
<br /></span></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-26910148651681033522011-08-02T11:06:00.000-07:002011-08-02T11:21:01.622-07:00[snapping beans] August 1, 2011<a href="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/wa8nnx/wa8nnx1006/wa8nnx100600004/7256555-fresh-green-beans-in-a-basket.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 168px; height: 123px;" src="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/wa8nnx/wa8nnx1006/wa8nnx100600004/7256555-fresh-green-beans-in-a-basket.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href="http://us.cdn1.123rf.com/168nwm/wa8nnx/wa8nnx1006/wa8nnx100600004/7256555-fresh-green-beans-in-a-basket.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br /></a>After twenty minutes in the bright sun of the garden we slowly walked toward the house with piles of beans balancing in overflowing baskets. I started water to boil and Lizzy and I sat across from each other as we snapped and tossed. <div>Across the room Mom picked up her violin and started practicing the music for my brother's wedding.</div><div> For a moment I paused my snapping to breath in deeply. The swirling sound of lilting fiddle tunes, the methodical snap of the beans and the light breeze that drifted through an open window. Perfect, priceless <span class="Apple-style-span" >Beauty. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >When I was a little girl I loved reading "Grandma's Attic" books. Well, scratch that. I still love to read them. The story of life 130 years ago. My favorite part about it? Some days, when there aren't cell phones or (shhh!!) computers or the need to be somewhere five minutes ago, I get to taste a little bit of the same life that they did... way back then. And it makes me smile. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >At some point in life I plan to write a post about what God has been showing me these past few months but for now... you can just enjoy a little glimpse into one simple thing I love. </span></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-40822527433454996652011-07-23T14:24:00.000-07:002011-07-23T14:46:21.711-07:00[courageous] book review<a href="http://files.tyndale.com/thpdata/images--covers/119_w/978-1-4143-5846-8.gif" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 119px; height: 178px;" src="http://files.tyndale.com/thpdata/images--covers/119_w/978-1-4143-5846-8.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Courageous</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Screenplay by Alex Kendrick and Stephen Kendrick. Novelization by Randy Alcorn.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Those of us who watched <i>Fireproof </i>have been waiting in anticipation for <i>Courageous: Honor begins at Home. </i>It won't disappoint. The story is filled with God moving and changing lives and bringing hope to a hopeless world. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It starts with four men, police officers, who are striving to keep the streets safe from gangsters and drug dealers. They have to face the facts: inner city fatherless kids are ending up in jail, on drugs or dead. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And then another fact hits home: What about their kids? Are they <i>being </i>the kind of fathers that God calls them to be to their children? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >When faced with their own failings, one by one, they fall on their knees and ask God to help them change. And that's when the story really starts. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It is really really good. Funny, beautiful, full of God. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >However. Yes, there is a however. The novelization isn't done very well. I hate to say that. I think Randy Alcorn is a good writer. But it isn't done well. It reads like a choppy commentary. Not a riveting story. The characters are hard to keep track of. Names are repeated over and over until you almost get dizzy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm sad about that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >However. Yes, there is another however! It is still a good story. If you can ignore the choppiness, you will enjoy it. And once the movie comes out, the names won't seem so confusing. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >It is hard to take a movie and make it into a book. Just like its hard to take a book and make it into a movie. The original is always the best. That's just the way it is. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >But I will tell you: <a href="http://www.courageousthemovie.com/">come September 30th, I will be in a theater watching it</a>. Enjoying every minute. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><blockquote>I received a complimentary copy of this book from <a href="http://www.tyndale.com/00_Home/index.php">Tyndale House Publishers</a> in exchange for my honest review. </blockquote></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><blockquote></blockquote><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-48069733109326641292011-07-23T10:11:00.000-07:002011-07-23T10:39:09.068-07:00[shelter] July 23, 2011<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">"</span>There were a few days of darkness. A few days of crawling and crying and longing for something to break free. There were a few days of me without you. Dark days indeed."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div>I have a good husband. Have I ever mentioned that on here? Its true. He hears my tears. Feels my pain. And takes me on Ferris Wheel rides to distract me from my sorrows. He's a good man. <div><br /></div><div>Then, when I think he's done it all- he pulls me from my seat on the couch and says, "I have someplace to take you..." and off to the fair we go again so I can watch the polka dancers. Because I mentioned one time that I love that part of the fair. And he remembered. And knew I needed comfort. So we went and I laughed and when we got home he swung me around the room in our own version of the polka. And I laughed again. </div><div><br /></div><div>God has blessed me. So deeply and richly that I am overwhelmed. But I forget. So many times I forget. I stare at the pain and wallow in fear and cry in darkness. <i>Oh, God. Forgive me. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>And then He says, when I am snuggled safely into bed without tears or thoughts of sorrow, "<i>Tasha, your husband's love is but a shadow of mine. </i></div><div><i>I am the kind of God who takes you on Ferris Wheel rides.</i></div><div><i>In your pain, remember that I will be your shelter.</i></div><div><i>I won't take it away but I will dance and laugh with you through it."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bktlA-OgQ5-xVr1TZR84R7mKZzSfd8RpXTBhF3p6N451wd8rSlbHemXQmxs9vMC64yPBes_AtTVz96qFY7akhn6A0g-zg5KHFjPYFcf7TRBYa671eOvfI_wRy2DePf9J9PFkE0qLBW0/s320/IMG_0368.JPG" /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-32721329998238107742011-07-20T16:39:00.000-07:002011-07-20T16:44:25.381-07:00[Billy Graham in Quotes] book review<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:14.0pt">Billy Graham in Quotes<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:10.0pt">By Franklin Graham with Donna Lee Toney<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span><img src="http://www.booksneeze.com/art/_225_350_Book.443.cover.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>I heard Billy Graham speak one time. I was about fourteen. I don’t remember a word he said. (we were in a stadium and it echoed badly, that’s all I can recall!) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>I always thought that Billy Graham told the truth about salvation but as for his stand on anything else… it must have been toeing the line because everyone, on all sides and in all faiths, tolerated him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>That was a pretty harsh assessment and completely wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>The reason for his good standing with so many must simply be the grace of God in his life because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">he simply spoke truth. </i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>As I read through his quotes on a plethora of subjects (abortion, the Bible, creation, greed, race, society, success, war, etc…) I was amazed at how directly he confronted the lies that have perpetrated our world. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>To give you a little taste:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-size:8.0pt">The issue [of] abortion is not whether you have a<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-size:8.0pt"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>right to terminate the life of a child…<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-align:center; text-indent:.5in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size: 8.0pt">The real issue is whether or not you will insist on running your own life<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-align:center; text-indent:.5in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size: 8.0pt">according to your own standards,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-align:center; text-indent:.5in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="font-size: 8.0pt">or whether you will instead let God run your life.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-left:1.0in;text-align:center; text-indent:.5in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>As for the book itself, there is no doubt that it would make a lovely addition to any library. The soft cover makes it easy to handle, the sections are clearly marked with an easy-to-use index. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1"> </span>As a writer and Sunday School teacher, I will greatly appreciate the use of this book in years to come!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 18px; ">Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com <<a href="http://xn--booksneeze-0oa.com/" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(12, 107, 191); text-decoration: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">http://BookSneeze®.com</a>> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <<a href="http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(12, 107, 191); text-decoration: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html</a>> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-35500181231196650572011-07-14T12:19:00.000-07:002011-07-14T12:29:19.995-07:00[Never the Bride] Book Review<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:22.0pt;font-family:"Ancestory SF"">Never The Bride</span><span style="font-family:Arial"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">By Cheryl McKay & Rene Gutteridge<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/410j0IveKOL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_.jpg" alt="Never the Bride: A Novel" /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I have to admit, it is not very often that I pick up a Christian chick-lit novel and anticipate reading it. Usually I am thinking, “Here we go…” The reason is: they’re all the same. The same story. The same situations. Often the same “popular” names used. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>When I started reading this novel, I was expecting the “same”. There’s this girl, Jessie, who wants to get married (naturally). And there are eleven bridesmaid dresses hanging in her closet (reminisce of that one movie with all the dresses…?) She has an ex-boyfriend who cheated on her. And, surprise, surprise, a “best friend” that she is secretly in-love with. She’s working at a dead-end job (aren’t they all?) and has a hard time liking blonde girls because they get all the guys.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>I would have been bored to tears except that the authors really are funny. And then, once I settled in to a laugh a little… the sameness disappeared.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>God shows up. Jessie’s story becomes something new and different because it shows a glimpse into what life would be like if God came walking up to you one day…and asked you to surrender all your dreams, trusting him to write your life story in His way and in His time.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>It wasn’t perfectly done. There are some things, like her childhood imaginary friend, that weren’t quite explained enough to make sense. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; "><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>But I’ll forgive that.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>And I’ll give the authors ten extra points for being original! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>If you like chick-lit… this is definitely one to read and pass around. If you don’t like it… give this one a try anyway. </span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family:Arial;mso-hansi-font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings">J</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">I received this book in exchange for my honest review through <a href="http://waterbrookmultnomah.com/bloggingforbooks">Blogging for Books.</a> <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p><p></p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-31753871407075496372011-07-06T12:03:00.000-07:002011-07-06T14:03:56.726-07:00[from ashes] July 5, 2011<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Mornings. Chores. Tired. Garden. Laundry. Meals. Hay. Errands. Chores. Tired. Sleep. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >That is pretty much a reflection of my life these days. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Some days I revel in the work. The dirt. The sweat. The feeling of the wind in my hair. The calluses on my hands. The knowledge that I am strong enough to lift twice what the average woman can without even breathing hard. The feeling of accomplishment when I see the milk tank swirling with creamy white milk. The garden blossoming and blooming with vegetables. The line of round bales growing. Thirty. Sixty. A hundred. Only a hundred left to put up before winter. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Then come the other days. The ones when I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. When the thought of hanging out another load of laundry could almost make me cry. The days when Amos can't get in from the fields and I have to face the barn full of cows and know that I'm all alone. The days that I avoid the garden and its weeds. When I turn my back on the sink full of dishes. When I crawl into bed with my eyes closed so I can't see the clothes on the floor. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And on those days I start to crumble. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >A day came when I was crumbling. I cried over everything. The morning. The cows. The manure. The flies. The pigs. The laundry. The garden. The dishes. The dirt. The heat. My husband. My friends. The fact that I still wasn't pregnant. The fact that despite all our hard work there wasn't any extra money. The fact that no matter how carefully I planned or worked it seemed that I was always disappointing someone.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I looked around and only saw the ashes of the life I desired. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And I heard clearly through my tears the voice of my Father, reminding me of something he once told a friend of mine. <b>"I would not have promised beauty for ashes, if I wasn't going to burn anything down."</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I wrote a song that day. One that has been swirling through my head ever since. His answer. His promise. In the end... </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>He offers beauty for ashes-- strength for pain. Hope for all who call on His name.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>He offers-- to hold all our tears. Clothe us in white-- turn the dark into light.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>Yet so often we forget</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><b>To get beauty for ashes, something must burn</b></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><b>To get strength for pain, something must hurt</b></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><b>For Him to hold all our tears, we must cry</b></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><b>To turn the dark into light, we have to face a black night</b></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>All His promises are true-- He'll do just what He said He'd do</i></span></p><p></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'; "><i>But so many times, in the fire, pain and tears--</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow'; "><i>We hide in the darkness, and cry out in fear</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Where are you, God? Where are you, God?"</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i>And He says...</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>To get beauty for ashes, something must burn</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>To get strength for pain, something must hurt</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>For me to hold all your tears, you must cry</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>To turn the dark into light- you have to face a black night,</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>But I promise you,</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>In the end,</b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>I will make all things new.</b></i></p><p></p></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-family:GungsuhChe"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-33455463676916701732011-06-16T09:52:00.000-07:002011-06-16T10:11:39.409-07:00[Wild Foods]<div align="left"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3389/3504305515_ca1bd3984b.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 361px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 236px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3389/3504305515_ca1bd3984b.jpg" /></a><br />I have this problem. As far as I know there isn't a name for it but if I could make one up it would be "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Egeovictusferus</span>" (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">ee</span>-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">geo</span>-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">victus</span>-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">faar</span>-us) the definition of which would be..."the need to use every food you have access to, even wild ones".<br /><br /><br />A similar disease, that goes along with this one, is the desire to make/grow everything you need to survive. Seriously, who needs grocery stores?<br /><br /><br />Yet, the truth of the matter? I mostly eat foods from grocery stores. So I live in a state of... frustration and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">overweightness</span>.<br /><br /><br />But! This year I started doing some of the things that I always said I would. Basically, putting all my research to work.<br /><br />How? By making clover-granola and clover-flour (for bread making) and stir-frying burdock root and cattail shoots.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center">And you know what...<span style="font-size:180%;"> I LOVE IT! </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div align="left">I've been having so much fun. And the food is delish! Amos even grunted an affirmative reply...which is miraculous. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I think I love it the most because I get to spent time outside to gather... singing worship songs as I sit and smell the sweetness of the summer air. There was a time in my life when I made sure to walk outside almost everyday because I did my devotions in the woods- and this has made me feel like I'm back there again. Where I was full of life and joy and God was near. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">And maybe... just maybe- I am and He is. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"></span><br /></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418449850613477449.post-88881605429945333792011-06-06T13:39:00.000-07:002011-06-09T08:43:47.477-07:00[Praying for Your Future Husband] Book Review<div align="center"><a href="http://www.randomhouse.com/images/dyn/cover/?source=9781601423481&width=145"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 145px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 217px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.randomhouse.com/images/dyn/cover/?source=9781601423481&width=145" /></a> Praying For Your Future Husband</div><br /><br /><div align="center">Preparing Your Heart for His</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">To be honest, there isn't much that I can say about this book. The title says it all. Are you praying for your future husband? Are you preparing your heart for his? Whether you are or aren't- this book is your inspiration!</div><br /><br /><div align="left">Before I got married the Lord put it on my heart to pray for my future husband. I kept a prayer journal that later the two of us read together... and compared to some journals that he had kept over the years. Did you know that God was answering my prayers, even when Amos and I didn't know each other? He was. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">This book by Robin Gunn and Tricia Goyer is full of testimonies and practical ideas to use in your own prayer time. I would have loved it when I was single- and I still love the ideas as I pray for my husband (by name, now!)<br /></div><br /><div align="left">I know this is so short... but I really don't know what else to say. This book is filled with stories and ideas that are beautiful and inspiring. Go get it! Read it! </div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">This book was sent to me in exchange for my honest review by Blogging For Books.<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div>nmetzlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672700321346330620noreply@blogger.com0