tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69961664426466114182024-03-13T04:10:52.168-07:00Deanna Ramsaydeanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-6607082999274839082018-10-03T08:25:00.001-07:002018-10-03T09:12:01.879-07:005 Year Tumorversary..... <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>5 years. </b>5 years ago at this very moment, Jon was going in for emergency brain surgery to remove a brain tumor that had been found only 30 hours prior. We walked into the ER, thinking we'd get sent home with some Extra Strength Tylenol. Little did we know, Jon would be admitted into ICU immediately and life as we knew it would no longer exist. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>That ICU room.</b> It was so cold. I'm sure there's a reason they keep it so cold. I remember Jon called the nurse in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping on the "couch" next to his bed, and requested extra blankets - for me. <i>He was so loving, even then. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i><b>There was family. </b>And friends. And strangers. Oh the stranger that showed up. A man I had never met. <i>"Who is this man? And who let him in to Jon's room in ICU?" </i>He ended up being one of the sweetest gifts. "Jon, I was just at Mariners, praying for you with the staff and community, and I got this verse from the Lord and I had to come speak it over you." He walked in, spoke it, and just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>Isaiah 49:1-3</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Before I was born the Lord called me;<br />From my mother's womb He has spoken my name.<br />He made my mouth like a sharpened sword,<br />In the shadow of His hand He hid me;<br />He made me into a polished arrow and concealed me in His quiver.<br />He said to me," You are my servant, in whom I will display my splendor."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Truer words have not been spoken over my husband. It was prophetic. That verse now hangs in our bedroom. That verse now hangs, engraved on a necklace around Jon's neck.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>The fear.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I remember the fear. Mostly of the unknown. "Babe, I... Um.. I'm scared." Jon said to me in a moment of pure honesty, the night before his surgery. We sat eye to eye and talked through the fear. The risks. The side effects. The unknown. "What if this surgery alters my personality?" "What if I don't survive?" The fears sat on a wide spectrum.<br /><i>What if....</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i><b>The morning </b>of his surgery, my heart and my body were at war. I felt strong. I felt peace. But the tears. What was going on? I wasn't crying, but tears streamed down my cheeks anyway. I've never experienced such a battle between mind and body. I thought my mind was strong. But my body was declaring it was in a state of shock. Or mourning. I'm not sure. But it was a physical reaction of which I had no control.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Then there was <b>The Gathering.</b> Friends, family, school teachers, neighbors. Gathered downstairs at the time of surgery. They prayed. They worshiped. They walked the perimeter of the hospital pleading with God on our behalf.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And then there was <b>the online gathering.</b> I've never been so grateful for social media in my life. So many prayers from so many people. <i>So grateful.</i><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The hospital waiting room</b> was overflowing with people. "The surgery will be 6 hours," the Neurosurgeon said. We hunkered down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There was<b> a man </b>who showed up in the waiting room. He told me he met Jon at a coffee shop once. His life had been impacted by his one conversation with Jon, and he came to sit with me in the waiting room. <i>Who was this man I married? Who starts up conversations with strangers and it impacts them so deeply, they come to the hospital? </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then there was<b> the other man. </b>The one that flew in from out of town. Who didn't say a word but sat in the waiting room for 12 hours, praying. When we finally got word that Jon was out of surgery, he quietly left and flew home. <i>Who does that?<br /> </i><br /><b>12 hours. </b>That's how long the "6 hour surgery" lasted. I thought I was going to vomit with each passing hour. <i>What took so long?</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"<b>Your husband is alive. </b> I was able to remove about 95% of his brain tumor. I had to cut his hearing nerve, so he is now permanently deaf in his right ear. And he has facial paralysis." I met the Neurosurgeon right outside the O.R. doors. His words and his face and the smells and the sounds... I remember it all like it happened 5 minutes ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then came <b>All The Stages of Healing.</b> Each moment was excruciating.<br />"Let's try to sit him up," They said. But they couldn't. <i>Jon can't control his vomiting.<br /> </i>"The tumor was on my right side, but I can't move my left side." <i>Yes, sometimes that happens, apparently. Time will tell.. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The mirror for his face. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The electric shocks. The therapy. </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">His face won't move.</i><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So many Emotions.<b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The kids</b> came to see daddy for the first time.<br />"I want my old dad back," one said after seeing him. <br /><i>Heartbreak.</i><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>5 years. </b> That's a long time for a new normal.<br />So many victories. So many tears. So much to celebrate. So much to grieve.<br />Has God put a "bow" on our story? Perhaps. We have life. Not everyone gets longer life this side of heaven. His mercies have been new every morning and He continues to write the very best stories...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />But today? Today I sit in the memory of it all. I soak in All The Feels.<br /><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Because 5 years ago today, I found out who my husband really was.</b> When all was stripped away and all that was left was his core, I found out who I really married. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A man of extreme faith, humble, vulnerable, a fighter, a warrior, filled with tenacity, grit, a man who listens to God, a man who submits to God, a man who isn't afraid to wrestle with God. A man who, when all else is gone, and The Hard has taken its place, can't help but ooze The Good Stuff.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>And 5 years ago today, I found out who God really is. </b>When there's no stage. When there's no fog machine to enhance the worship, no cool lighting and no rockin band. When there is no preacher to explain Him. No bible study leader to direct me to Him. There He was. In the ER room. In the waiting room. In the bathroom stall I would hide in to cry. He was there in the icy cold ICU room. He was in the blankets Jon requested for me. He was in the healing and He was in the "I'm sorry, this is as much healing as you'll ever get." He was in the questions. He was in the unknown. He was in the meals that were brought to the hospital and our home. He was laughter. He was tears. He was peace. Day by day, He showed up. I have never believed God more. I've never trusted Him more. I found that in the pain - the deep pain - He reveals Himself to us in ways we would have NEVER known Him, otherwise. Think about it. We'll never know God as Comforter, unless we need to be comforted. Would I un-do the past 5 years? Never. I would never want to un-know what I know about God. It was too sweet a gift. And I know Jon would say the same.<br /><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Thank you, 5 years, for the gift of perspective. For the gift of dependency. And healing. For the things seen and unseen.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And Happy Tumorversary, Jon. I've never been more proud to be your wife.</span><br />
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The night before surgery, the most precious support system...</div>
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The last pic of Jon before surgery...</div>
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Friends driving from near and far to sit and wait...</div>
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After moving out of ICU, and several days later... Tay getting to see daddy.</div>
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One step at a time... </div>
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All the therapies... </div>
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Our amazing Neurosurgeon, Dr. Nwagwu.</div>
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Victory.</div>
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They said the picture on the left was a good as it would get. As time went on, we celebrated any and all extra healing...</div>
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On Jon's 1 year Tumorversary, we went back to the ER and thanked the ER doctor who found his brain tumor. A moment I will never forget.</div>
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Thank you, Jesus.</div>
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<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-27704865540543775842018-06-01T11:09:00.001-07:002018-06-02T01:39:21.414-07:0040 Things I've Learned in 40 Years of Life...<span style="font-size: large;">40 Things I've Learned in 40 Years of Life...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">1) Being a people pleaser is exhausting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2) My favorite foods are the ones I was nervous to try at first. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3) Love people expecting nothing in return. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) There's nothing like a shoe with good arch support.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5) God doesn't break His promises.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6) People are way more gracious with you when you own up to your mistakes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7) "A Christian" is not a synonym for "A Republican."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">8) Sex was worth the wait.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">9) But the wait was HARD.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">10) Sense of humor is one of my highest values in friendships.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">11) Find a mentor. And that doesn't mean asking a stranger to meet with you once a week for an hour.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">12) Some things you learned as a child just aren't true. Keep learning, growing, asking questions, and don't be afraid to change your stance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">13) Your thyroid effects way more in your body than you ever realized. Not having one effects all. those. things.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">14) Giving to someone in need is equal parts about helping their need, and about helping my heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">15) Keeping short accounts of offenses is a path to freedom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">16) There is nothing in life I have control over, except the choices I make. Period.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">17) "God won't give you more than you can handle" is a lie and not found in the Bible.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">18) There are lots of "Christianese" sayings that aren't biblical or true. We need to stop saying them. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">19) Don't belabor and exasperate your acceptance of an apology. Accept it and move on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">20) Apologizing to your kids when you're wrong is a powerful gift to them. You pretending that you don't need to apologize is not.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">21) There is nothing I can do to make God love me less.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">22) There is nothing I can do to make God love me more.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">23) Comparison and contentment cannot co-exist.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">24) "You're easy to come home to!" is one of my favorite things my husband has said to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">25) "I'm pretty sure if there was an award given for who has the best sex, we would win." is the other favorite thing my husband has said to me. Loving your physical relationship with your spouse is good. Very good. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">26) I don't like the taste of alcohol. I have tried to acquire the taste. It just isn't something I enjoy and that's ok. This frustrates some people. And that's ok too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">27) When I parent with 'behavior modification' as my goal, it is very dissatisfying. When I parent with 'reaching their heart' as the goal, it is very satisfying.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">28) Divorce when kids are involved, no matter the reason, and no matter how loving the parent, has lasting effects on the kids.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">29) God speaks to us if we are willing to listen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">30) Listening to God takes space. And time. And shutting our mouths.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">31) The inventor of Poo-pouri deserves an award.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">32) The greatest gift my parents gave me was their healthy, loving marriage.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">33) We keep a loving, healthy marriage with gratitude and selflessness. And annual get-aways without the kids. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">34) Being an intentional mom and a spontaneous mom are equal parts important.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">35) The key to living a content life, is living open handed. Willing to release what God wants you to release, and ready receive what God wants to give you. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">36) If someone gossips TO you about other people, they will gossip ABOUT YOU to other people. Don't gossip. Period.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">37) "More of Jesus and less of me" does not mean I diminish who I am. It means I magnify who HE is IN me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">38) Learning to say "No" is one of the most powerful things I learned, way too late in life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">39) There is one ingredient to having the most painful times in life turn out to be the most powerful, joy-filled, healing times in life. And His name is Jesus.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">40) "40 is the new.." nothing. It's not the new 30. Or the new 20. 40 is 40. And that is OK. It's good, even. Each line on my face tells a story. The times I laughed until I cried, found rest in a warm, sunny getaway, cried myself to sleep... The joy, the pain, the laughter, the tears. 40 years of life and life t</span><span style="font-size: large;">o the full. How grateful I am to be alive!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Cheers to 40 and cheers to 40 more!</span><br />
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deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-80862919555961196922018-05-23T08:04:00.004-07:002018-05-23T22:55:49.334-07:00The Line for 5th Grade Graduation... PS Send Coffee. <span style="font-kerning: none;">“OK Mom. See that seat right there?” Taylor said, pointing to the front row, center seat in the auditorium, “That would be the perfect seat for you sit in, so you can see me best.” </span><span style="font-kerning: none;">I laughed. </span><span style="font-kerning: none;">“Well obviously, honey. But there are how many kids in the 5th grade? And multiply that by how many parents and grandparents and siblings will be here? The chances of me getting that seat are very rare. This dad standing next to me JUST told me that at last year’s 5th grade graduation, he arrived at 7:45am for the 9am grad, and the line was already wrapped around the building. I also heard they cram the room full, and a lot of parents end up just standing in the back. So whether I’m sitting or standing, I’ll be able to see you from wherever I am and it will be fine, OK?” </span><span style="font-kerning: none;">“Ok.” Taylor shrugged.</span><br />
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Just 5 minutes earlier, I had literally said to another mom, “I’m not some crazy parent that’s about to wake up in the middle of the night to get a good seat in the cafeteria, I mean, ‘auditorium’ for 5th grade graduation. Let’s be honest, 5th grade grad is, well, JUST FIFTH GRADE GRAD.” Don’t get me wrong. I love a good celebration! I love to celebrate and acknowledge and honor… But I also like things to have their rightful place. Let’s not treat today’s “graduation” like a college graduation. (Did I just see a money lei? STOP.) </span><br />
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">But as the day went on, I could not stop thinking about my little interaction with Taylor from earlier in the day. <b>Why were my chances of getting the front row seat so slim?</b> If I were to be honest, the only thing between me and that front row seat was my opinion. I didn’t think it was worth it. I didn’t think it necessary to wake up at O-Dark-Thirty for this ceremony. Yet clearly it was to her. </span><br />
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">And so this morning I got up before the sun was up. I lugged my chair and a blanket and here I sit. The first person in line. Because This: <b>Am I willing to love her to the degree to which I think she should be loved? Or am I willing to meet her where she is and love her how SHE wants to be loved?</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">I feel this all the time in marriage. We’ve all heard it - the 5 Love Languages… meeting your spouse's needs… I know it’s a value there. I know I need to love Jon in the way that best serves HIM, not me. But what about with young children? I mean, I know Reese needs physical touch and Morgan needs quality time… And I try to meet my kids where they are for that. But what about these types of things? When we clearly value different things? With little things, like those certain shoes they really want and you just don’t get it… or the rolling backpack you know they’ll end up hating, but they “have” to have…. or the front row seat at a 5th grade graduation. Do I try to convince them otherwise? <i>It’s not THAT important!</i> Or do I say, “What matters to you, matters to me.” </span><span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Can I do it 100% of the time? Nope. But as much as I can, may I love with my eyes on THEM and not on ME. Because loving others while keeping my eyes on myself, seem to be 2 mutually exclusive activities. </span><br />
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">So I let them choose the shoes. And the backpack. I set the alarm. And get the front row seat. </span><span style="font-kerning: none;">Not for me. For them. Because I’m learning that “for them” is reason enough. <3 </span><br />
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deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-19481354009379937292018-03-27T23:33:00.003-07:002018-03-28T00:11:31.149-07:00My Husband and I Slept in Separate Beds Tonight..."Daddy, can you and I have a sleepover tonight?" Morgan asked.<br />
<div>
"Ya, and can Mommy and I have a sleepover too?" Reese echoed closely behind. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few hours earlier, Taylor was at a swim party that spontaneously turned into a sleepover invite. And Jackson was out to dinner with us, which ended with a close friend inviting him to go over for a sleepover as well. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Neither Jackson or Taylor had bags packed. It was spontaneous. </div>
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"Yes!" </div>
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4 times over.</div>
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Yes, you can just borrow jammies after swimming and spend the night at your friend's house.</div>
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Yes, you can go home with them and have a sleepover there, buddy.</div>
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Yes Morgan, you can sleep with daddy tonight.</div>
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And Yes, Reese, I'll sleep with YOU tonight!</div>
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All. The. Yeses.</div>
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We spend so much time as parents creating boundaries for our young children. Because, quite honestly, creating boundaries for our kids is one of the greatest gifts we can give them! </div>
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No, you can't touch that. It's hot!</div>
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No, you can't step off the curb. You could get hurt!</div>
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No, you can't skip your nap again today.</div>
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No, you can't have 5 scoops of ice cream. </div>
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No, you can't play with the lighter.</div>
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No, you can't watch that particular movie or play that video game.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We know what is healthy and what is beneficial and what will help our kids thrive. We know what will hurt them and what could trip them up and what will keep them from being all they are created to be. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But then somewhere between keeping our kids safe and well-balanced, we lost the art of the Yes. </div>
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We got comfortable, and safe, and we enjoyed the control. </div>
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Saying Yes can be inconvenient. It can be messy. It doesn't always fit inside our box. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But there is power in a YES. Freedom to be found in a YES. Empowerment in a YES.</div>
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Aside from risking safety and well-being, Jon and I have made a choice to lean in to the YES. </div>
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Can we make a huge fort using all the blankets and sheets in the house?</div>
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Can we have "backwards dinner" and eat dessert first?</div>
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Can we go for a spontaneous bike ride? </div>
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Can I sleep in my sister's room tonight?</div>
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Can we sleep tonight in that fort? </div>
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Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. </div>
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I remember the first time my kids asked to sleep on the couch in the family room "just for fun." My knee jerk reaction was, "No, not tonight." But why? Why did I care? To be honest, I didn't. It was just that I <i>felt</i> like I should care. I didn't hear about other parents letting their kids do that. I mean, maybe for a fun, special occasion, but not just on a random night of the week. But why not? This question of "why not" continued to haunt me. </div>
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"Can I paint a picture?" <i>No. Hmm... Well, why not? Because it's inconvenient for mommy, really.</i> </div>
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So the answer?</div>
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YES. </div>
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"Can I have a sleepover at my friend's house?" <i>No... Hmm... Well, why not? Because we only do sleepovers at a couple of very close family friend's homes. And this isn't one of them.</i></div>
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So the answer?</div>
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No. </div>
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The answer clearly can't always be Yes. But when we can, we will choose it!<br />
Because it validates their ideas and their hopes. It makes them feel seen and heard. It shapes their hearts toward leadership and initiation. </div>
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And because the deeper and deeper I dove into most of my "No's," the more I saw them rooted in selfishness. </div>
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The request was inconvenient. It took some time. It didn't give me enough time to plan. It was messy. It's not what I was thinking of. It's not the way I did it when I was growing up. </div>
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Maybe you need to join us in leaning in to the YES.</div>
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In parenting, perhaps. Or maybe your YES is just for LIFE in general.</div>
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What's your hesitation? Do you have a clear sense of right and wrong in your situation? Ok, then say No. </div>
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Or is it really just fear? Fear of the unknown... Fear of failure. Or maybe it's comfort. You're so tied to your comfort level, you can't just try. Maybe it's not what you had planned. Your bags aren't packed. You didn't anticipate this. I'll say it again: Lean In. Dabble in a Yes. Put your toe in the water. The temperature might be different, but honestly? Sometimes you think you want a warm bath when really, an exhilarating cold shower might be the exact thing you need. And if not? Hop in the bath when you get home. (I know that's right where I'm sending my daughter when she gets home tomorrow in yesterday's clothes.) ;) </div>
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So tonight, I cuddle my 5 year old instead of my hubby. And he has a foot in his face from our 6 year old's crazy sleeping habits. Because that's what we had hoped for tonight? Not at all. Tomorrow we will go back to falling asleep holding hands like we usually do. But tonight? Tonight we said YES. </div>
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deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-6445626762687663862018-02-02T00:20:00.001-08:002018-02-06T22:36:30.348-08:00That Time My 5 Year Old PREACHED To Me... A small children's chair from our upstairs loft had somehow made its way downstairs today. At the end of the day as we were tidying after dinner, the last item at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to be taken up, was the chair. Reese ran over to it and said, "I'll carry it up!" I had to hold back my laughter. Sweet Reese is 5 years old but she looks about 3. ;) She is in the 6th percentile for height and weight and is as petite as they come. But her heart and spirit? Oh man, they are fierce! "No honey, I will carry it up," I replied. But she frowned at me and insisted she could do it. The other kids all went upstairs to get ready for bed and I returned to the kitchen sink to wash the final pot from dinner. <br />
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About 30 seconds later, I heard her. She was out of breath. There was a strain in her voice. Each word had about 2 seconds between the next. She spoke to herself through gritted teeth. "Just.. because.. it's hard... doesn't.. mean.. God's not here." My eyes grew huge. My eyes filled with tears. Oh sweet baby girl, may your whispered prayer, through gritted teeth, steady your heart not just for this moment, but for all the moments of your life. <br />
I turned around to see my baby giving all she had, to get the chair up just one stair. <br />
Her words rung in my ears. "Just because it's hard, doesn't mean God's not here." She pushed. She pulled. She lifted. She struggled. She sat for a rest. And finally, big sis Taylor, on her way downstairs for a glass of water, offered to help. Reese accepted the assistance, this time with gratitude. And together, they got the chair safely up the stairs. <br />
<br />
Sometimes God gives us supernatural strength to get through something beyond what we ever could have thought we could handle. <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He is present. Empowering. </i><br />
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And sometimes God sends people to walk alongside. To support us and hold us up. To cheer us on, and sit in it with us, and to share in the heavy lifting. <br />
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<i>He is present. Providing tangible support - His hands and feet.</i><br />
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And sometimes, God just sits with us in the warm sun. Toes in the sand, with blessings flooding our thoughts, and peace that goes beyond our understanding.<br />
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<i>He is present. Providing rest and goodness.</i><br />
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When life is easy, God is here. <br />
When life is hard, God is here. <br />
He Is With.<br />
Always. <br />
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Sometimes we have to look for Him.<br />
Sometimes we have to pause and listen for Him.<br />
And sometimes His presence is an undeniable force we can't dismiss.<br />
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<b>But then there's those other times. The times we don't see, and we don't hear, and we don't feel, but we KNOW. </b>We know His character. We know His promises. <br />
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And so we wipe the sweat from our brow, take a deep breath, and through gritted teeth, we declare the Truth and choose to let our faith conquer our doubt. <br />
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"Just because it's hard, doesn't mean God isn't here."<br />
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<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-77718488820525845262018-01-30T01:30:00.000-08:002018-01-30T12:00:24.804-08:00You Can Do ANYTHING. But Not EVERYTHING...I was 26 years old and I sat in a stranger's living room, holding my 11 month old baby boy on my lap. I had recently joined this community group of young moms as a way of linking arms with others in my same life stage. There is nothing more powerful than hearing the words, "Me too," and boy did I need to hear that as a new mom! The past year had been a whirlwind and I was exhilarated and exhausted all at once. The moms had chosen to read through a book written by a well known "stay-at-home mom" and author. We all marveled at the author's candid honesty, her wit, and her ability to write about poopy diapers in a way that made us laugh and cry at the same time. Yes, about poop! She talked about the balancing act between being a mom and a wife. It sparked conversation between us in the group about what that balancing act looked like in our own lives - with all the hats we wear. <br />
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And then she said it. A girl in the group I really didn't know said something so off-putting. "You know, ladies. You can't have it all." I was so annoyed. And offended. <i>Um, yes you can!</i> You see, I had been happily married for 5 years, had traveled Europe for 3 months, singing for our U.S Troops with my newlywed hubby, and had a thriving singing and speaking schedule. And when I became a mom and had my baby boy, I just put him on my hip and continued with my lifestyle. At 11 months, my son had been on 34 flights! <i>Sorry chick, but you are wrong! You CAN have it all!</i> I was wife-ing, and mom-ing... and speaking, and singing and traveling and etc... etc.. Besides, this author whose book we were reading? She was a stay at home mom! She poured into her kids and hubby... and also had a thriving speaking ministry, as well as top selling books! I "got" her. We were crushing it! <br />
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However, a few years later, as I continued reading and meeting with other moms, I began to have more of a pit in my stomach. I now had 2 kids and they were entering school.... and I knew I couldn't keep the same pace or lifestyle. My son wanted me to be "room mom" and my daughter wanted me to take her to dance class. There was soccer and t-ball every Saturday. And the reality was, I couldn't be in more than one place at one time. (duh.) So what would win? The bookings and honorariums and hotel rooms? Or my presence at home. Around the dinner table. And at the school jog-a-thon. <i>"You can't have it all!"</i> It still annoyed me. And yet I suddenly found myself in a season of loving the power of "No." Saying "no" to opportunity and invitations became empowering. Because although I was saying "no" to something good, I was saying "YES" something great. This Greater Yes became my drive. It became my heartbeat. Now don't get me wrong, I didn't say "no" to everything, but I definitely cut back to find a balance, and weighed everything against what I believed was my Greater Yes.<br />
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Fast forward a few years and a few kids later, and there I sat at a Leadership Conference. I was there to attend, not to speak. To listen and learn. My now 4 kids were with grandma for the day, and I wanted to take a day for self care. A young mom and well known author took the stage as one of the keynote speakers and I leaned in, excited to glean wisdom from a mom in a similar life stage. She boldly challenged us moms to not sacrifice, but to get out there and pursue our passions. That we would have regret if we didn't. And yet I sat there once again with a pit in my stomach. But this time for a different reason. "But, <i>how</i>?" I thought. How do I <i>not</i> sacrifice? Something <i>has</i> to be sacrificed. You can't "have it all." BLAST. That annoying phrase was haunting me again. This speaker was doing it all, wasn't she? What was wrong with <i>me</i>?? I wanted to find her afterward and pick her brain. I stepped outside the conference into the gift shop and that's when I saw it. THIS. A wall hanging. I stopped and took a picture. THIS is what that other girl years ago probably meant. THIS made sense. THIS made me exhale.<br />
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I wanted to find the speaker and say - I know that to be here speaking, you're away from your kids for a few days and it takes a toll on your family. Right?? And also, I was just hired to write an article for a parenting magazine, and I know how many hours it took me to get that done and edited to the perfect word count... time that my husband had to manage the kids on what used to be our date night. So this high selling book you just released HAD to have taken its toll on your family, right?? Why aren't you saying that part?? It's OK! It's OK that there is a cost! But don't pretend there isn't one at all! <br />
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Fast forward to today, and the pendulum has swung once again. The same authors and speakers are now confessing to strained marriages, sacrificed time with kids, and admitting to the physical toll "the hustle" has taken on their bodies and families. They point back to the past few years of writing and speaking and traveling and they are now pulling back. Choosing rest. Saying no to the hustle. And saying yes to more simplicity. Ahhh... Yes! THIS. This is what I was wondering! I had been so frustrated. I had felt so misled. For years I had sat in circles with other moms, and together we wondered how all these moms in ministry were "doing it all."<br />
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And yet the reality was, they weren't! Something had to give. They just weren't talking about it. Moms, women... heck, men, anyone - each one of us can do ANYTHING! But, we can't do EVERYTHING. Those authors were choosing which "anything" they wanted to partake in. We have that choice too! And friends, you know what? There is no right or wrong! There is just a choice to be made. Every day! WE get to choose! I look back on the first year of being a mom and part of me loves the jet-setting life I chose. And part of me regrets that I didn't just soak him in a little more. And now I get to let those learnings and feelings impact my present decisions!<br />
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Now please hear me, I am not speaking to the financial aspect of life. This conversation is not about working moms vs. non-working moms. It is about the pressure to be all things to all people at all times. And to keep up the facade that it's all glorious and seamless and there is no cost. The reality is, there is a cost. And that's okay! <br />
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Today, I find that I myself have let the pendulum swing pretty far in the other direction... and I need to find a middle ground once again. In an attempt to find balance, I think I have let go of more than I should have. I have let that "empowering no" become an excuse to stay comfortable. None of us is perfect. We are all on a journey. Mine has me pondering, at 1am on a Monday night, what "Everything" I need to release and what "Anything" I want to embrace. What is it for you? What hustle do you need to let go of? And what passion or calling do you need to lean into? What are you willing to sacrifice to make that happen? And once you pray and listen and decide, join me in guilt-free obedience. There WILL be a cost. That's ok. And if we start down the road and it doesn't feel right? No shame. No judgement. Pray again. Re-assess. And start again. <br />
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Choose your Anything. Release your Everything. 2018, here we come! deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-19667740038909753502017-07-31T10:09:00.001-07:002017-07-31T21:08:05.917-07:008 Months After My Mom Died, My Dad Got Engaged. But I'm Not Done Grieving. It was 3 weeks after my mom had passed, and my dad and I sat in a burger joint after a date at the movies. The pain of loss was severe and nauseating. (My eyes fill with tears as I sit here writing, just remembering back.) "Do you think you'll ever date or re-marry?" I asked my dad as we shared sweet potato fries. Our family has always been an open book. We ask honest questions and give honest answers. He said he didn't know. He didn't know if he wanted to live alone, but he also didn't know if he could love again and risk going through pain like that again. Time would tell. <br />
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The conversations about grieving, healing and the future continued many times over between my dad, and sisters and I in the weeks and months that followed. My dad was well into his grief journey and he processed it as an open book.<br />
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You see, almost 5 years prior, my mom had been diagnosed with FTD - a brain disease that robbed us of her, far before she actually passed. She had become the equivalent of a 1 year old, and my dad spent those years selflessly caring for his High School sweetheart with tender grace. The grieving process had been going on for almost 5 long years. </div>
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"This next season will not be about trying to fill the holes that now remain with mom gone. Those holes can never be filled. It is about writing a new chapter moving forward, whatever that may be."<b> </b>My daddy is so wise. </div>
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And then it happened. It was 9:30pm on a Sunday night and my dad texted my sisters and I. </div>
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Daddy got all 3 of us girls on the phone at the same time, and told us that after church, he was praying with someone who had come forward for prayer and there was this other woman, "Pam" who was also praying with someone. When they both finished praying and were walking out to the parking lot, my dad mentioned he was going to grab a quick lunch and asked if Pam wanted to come. He then told us all about their lunch and their conversation... and us girls giggled and teased and asked probing questions. "Are you entering the dating scene?? Do you want us to start setting you up?" "NO. WAY." My dad laughed. "I haven't dated since I was 16 years old and I have no desire to jump into that scene. But, I will say this: I <i>do</i> want to get to know Pam more. I only want to get to know her. That's it." </div>
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And so it continued. Lunches after church. Texts and emails. We coached him on asking her out on an official "first date" and grilled him on what he would wear and where they would go. :) We got to meet Pam casually all together.. then individually as families. Each step of the way, my dad would check in and ask, "How do you guys feel? Do you see any red flags? I don't even see a yellow flag but your insight matters to me." With each date, each conversation, each phone call and text, my dad grew a bigger and bigger spring in his step. A lightness in his voice. A joy restored. A heart healed. And each interaction between us and Pam confirmed what my dad had already discovered. Pam is a gem. When you ask her about her relationship with my dad, she humbly gives credit to the Lord. When you bring up my mom, she weeps as she gushes about how wonderful my mom was. When you mention my dad's name, she lights up just as bright as he does when you mention hers. </div>
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But here's the thing: <b>I'm not done grieving the loss of my mom.</b> My mom has only been gone 8 1/2 months. She was my best friend. My first call. My biggest cheerleader. My ministry partner. And I'm not done grieving. I actually don't think I'll ever <i>not</i> grieve the loss of her. She was beyond amazing. And I hate that I have to wife and parent and minister without her. I hate that my kids won't have her direct influence on their lives... That my 2 Littles won't have any memories of her at all. </div>
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But here's the other thing: <b>Making my dad stay single won't bring my mom back. </b></div>
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Sounds obvious, right? But don't think it didn't cross my mind. <i>Maybe if he stayed single, it would preserve my mom's memory more. Maybe if he stayed single, it would show how dedicated he was to her. </i>So silly. My dad cared for my mom and loved her with every ounce of his heart until her final breath. I have never EVER seen a more selfless and sacrificial love in my life. The reality is, studies show that men who <i>really</i> loved marriage and were <i>truly </i>happily married, end up re-marrying quickly after the loss of a spouse. </div>
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And so I grieve her. </div>
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And I celebrate with him.</div>
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At the same time.</div>
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I am 100% still grieving the loss of my mom AND 100% thrilled that my dad will not be alone and that the Lord has given him the gift of Pam. </div>
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I used to think there was one box to live in, per situation. Like, my workplace is "frustrating." My kids are "exhausting." My friends are "fun." One emotion per item on the list. And yet in this season, I have found that I can feel 2 very different emotions at the exact same time, about the same situation. Grief and joy. Co-exisitng together. At the same time. And not competing with each other, but rather <i>complimenting</i> each other. This co-mingling of emotions help me to feel whole and true to my experience. I don't have to stuff Grief down to embrace Joy. And I don't have to release Joy in order to enter Grief. They are both at the surface. Close to my heart. And deep in my soul. </div>
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So when my dad decided he wanted to propose to Pam last week, just 8 months after my mom passed, my sisters and I jumped to clear our schedules. We wouldn't miss it for the world. Because seeing my dad's broken heart become healed, is a beautiful gift. And because healing on God's timeline and not our own, brings peace. And because the truth is, my grief doesn't restrict my ability to Joy. </div>
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So last Monday, my daddy took Pam to dinner on Coronado Island...</div>
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And then he took her on a Gondola Ride... and asked her to marry him. </div>
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And after the engagement, we had a surprise party for them, where they told their love story. </div>
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And this picture says it all. </div>
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Renewed joy. Healed heart. Story Redeemed. </div>
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Not in the absence of grief, but in it's presence!</div>
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How beautifully complex the grace of God is. </div>
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Multifaceted and diverse in its expression.</div>
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<i>"Strength for today, and bright hope for tomorrow.</i></div>
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<i>Great is Thy Faithfulness, Lord unto me." </i> </div>
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Welcome to the family, Pam. We truly love you. </div>
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deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-9506820675890876642017-05-11T15:44:00.002-07:002017-05-11T15:48:30.577-07:00Is Mother's Day for Me? Or is it for my Mom and Mother-in-Law? Who Gets Mother's Day?? "Is Mother's Day for me? Or is it for my Mom and my Mother-in-Law?<br />
This common question, often heard circling around neighborhood parks, Chick-fil-A play areas, and online forums is a definite hot button for most young moms. Who actually <i>gets</i> Mother's Day? Certainly my Mother-in-Law was celebrated in her day. And I sure as heck know my mom got all the breakfast-in-bed she could handle when I was little. So isn't Mother's Day finally mine?? Haven't I paid my dues? I mean, I haven't washed my hair in 4 days or gotten a full nights sleep in 4 years. For the love of all things holy, just give me a mere 24 hours! <br />
<br />
Here's the deal.<br />
You're right. You should be celebrated.<br />
And....<br />
So should she. <br />
<br />
We are now in this Sisterhood... together. I'm 12 years in, she's 38 years in. She looks back on the good 'ol days... and I'm in the midst of living them. Same journey, different stage. They say you never stop being a mom. Clearly, it changes. But the undying, sacrificial, I'd stand in front of a train for you kind of love? Never ends. <br />
<br />
Now I don't know whether it matters which day you celebrate. Saturday? Sunday? Next week? There's not a one size fits all. Just don't get so lost in yourself that you forget those who went before you. <br />
<br />
So why, as a young mom to 4 young kids, do I feel so passionate about it?<br />
<br />
Because this.<br />
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This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom (and sisters) and me a few years ago. My mom... My best friend. Type A. Energetic. Hilarious. Life of the party. My "first call." My biggest cheerleader. The ultimate in #momgoals.<br />
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And this is my mom and me on Mother's Day last year.... <br />
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Shortly after turning 60 years young, a brain disease began to attack my mom's brain and her body. At the time of this picture, she was unable to speak, barely able to walk, and was functioning at the equivalence of a 1 year old. <br />
<br />
Almost 6 months to the day after this picture was taken, I sat by my mom's bed and watched my best friend take her last breath. I cannot describe the excruciating pain of that moment.<br />
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What I wouldn't give to spend one more Mother's Day with her, lavishing her with my time and giving her more eskimo kisses.<br />
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So do I want to sleep in? Desperately. Do I want a day of pampering? You better believe it. But not under the banner of neglecting the ones who went before me. The ones who mentored me and showed me. Who cheer me on and fill in the gaps. I don't regret one Mother's Day spent with my Mom and my Mother-in-Law. Do I change a diaper on that day? Nope. Do I cut the kids food and take them potty? Nope. My husband still gives me a day off from "mom-ing" the regular stuff. And then he schedules a spa day for me every year - on a day shortly <i>after</i> Mother's Day... so I can get that much needed day off I so desire. A day that's all mine. <br />
<br />
But Mother's Day? That day I gladly share. Because you never know. You never know how many more you have with yours. And with his. Life is precious. Moms are precious. <br />
<br />
So have your day. But make sure they have theirs too. <br />
Because us moms - All of us - are worth celebrating. <br />
<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-10339037854705317692017-05-09T22:07:00.003-07:002017-05-09T22:07:55.240-07:00What Every Mother Wants on Mother's Day... "Give her the day off."<br />
"Do something active as a family."<br />
"Send her to the spa."<br />
"Don't send her to the spa, it's too crowded on Mother's Day at the spa."<br />
<br />
The messages are loud and clear. No, I take that back. The messages are loud and seriously confusing. Every article says something different. Every blog has a different formula. Just yesterday, I read a Facebook post that said, "Men, don't let your wife get off the couch on Mother's Day." And directly underneath it was another Facebook post that said, "I find it seriously insulting that people think Mother's Day is about doing nothing. I want to go on a rigorous hike with my kids on Mother's Day." It's no wonder men approach this day with fear and trembling. They don't know how to "win." They <i>want </i>to win. They do. But every idea seems as good as the next and at the same time, as horrible as the next. Helping the kids make a home cooked meal for your wife could be a huge win. Or she could be irritated that there's now a mess in the kitchen. Having the kids serve her breakfast in bed could really win her heart. Or it could make her seriously frustrated that she didn't get to sleep in longer.<br />
<br />
Men, do you want to know what <b>every</b> wife wants on Mother's Day? I know I just said there is not a one-size-fits-all formula for pleasing every mom. But this? I <b>promise</b> this is what we all want:<br />
<br />
To be known.<br />
<br />
That's it. It's that simple. Know her. Like, really know her. Be a student of your wife. Know that your wife really wants to run a family 5K on Mother's Day. Or that she wants to sleep until 11. Know that she actually hates that big, fancy brunch and she'd rather eat a breakfast burrito from a yummy hole-in-the-wall joint. Not every mom wants the same thing. So know YOUR wife and love her how SHE desires to be loved.<br />
<br />
And if you still don't know or can't figure it out?<br />
<br />
Ask.<br />
<br />
Seriously. Just ask. Not in a, "Hey, so it's almost Mother's Day and I was wondering what you had planned?" kind of way. But in a, "Hey babe, Mother's Day is almost here and I want that day to be a celebration of who you are and all you do. I want you to feel loved and cared for. How can the kids and I honor you best on that day?" Ask it with love and with genuine interest. I know it's only a few days away. The lie you may believe is that it's too late. It's not.<br />
<br />
Now moms, this is where our role comes in. If your husband asks you what you desire to do on Mother's Day, be gracious. Take it as a sign that he cares. Closing the gap between expectations and reality is a daunting journey. If your husband is willing to make the effort to close that gap, then receive it as an act of love. Don't belittle him for not knowing. Your relationship is a journey and whether he has you figured out already or he is intentionally continuing to seek you out, it's beautiful. It's all beautiful.<br />
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And Moms, in just 5 short weeks, we get the opportunity to return the favor on Father's Day. So as this weekend unfolds, be gracious. And thankful. Seek to know and be known. And if it all falls flat? Choose grace. :)<br />
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OK, one more thing. I think this is important to clarify: I understand that Mother's Day is supposed to be a day where Moms are celebrated by their CHILDREN. Many dads get to Mother's Day feeling frustrated that any expectation is on them at all. Some feel that their only job is to wish their <b>own</b> mom "Happy Mother's Day." But the reality is, Dads bare the responsibility of teaching the kids how to celebrate mom well. Dads get to teach and train and guide and direct. "Hey kids! Shhh!!! Let's be super duper quiet this morning so mom can sleep in! She works so hard caring for us, let's give her a day to rest." or "Hey kids! You know how mom loves to be active? Let's plan an adventure for mommy together!" Teach them what it looks like to be a student of someone and to love them in <i>their</i> love language. You are raising future husbands and wives and mommies and daddies. You are raising future best friends and bosses. Celebrating WELL has become a lost art. You get to help shape their hearts toward seeing the good in another human being and honoring who that person is in your life. It's a life skill they will take with them the rest of their lives. Lean in and enjoy the privilege of impacting the next generation! <br />
<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-48680670556866580852016-09-13T11:27:00.003-07:002016-09-13T11:27:54.636-07:00MRI's... Unemployment... And our "New Normal." "New normal" is an interesting concept. Is it really a thing? There was a day I never thought our "new" would ever feel "normal" after Jon's surgery. But a few years in, and life goes on. Or so I thought. <br />
<br />
I'm sitting here in Starbucks, with my stomach in knots. Not because of one thing in particular, but because of a lot of things in general. There are a lot of question marks in our life. I've learned that question marks frustrate me. I want the life with the beautiful, gigantic, shiny bow. Heck, I'll even settle for a pretty little bow. A tiny one. But for the love of all things, just give me a blasted bow. But nope. Just when I feel like the bow might be getting tied, one of the ends get pulled and it unravels. Square one. Start another "new normal."<br />
<br />
1 year ago, Jon left church ministry to sign on to work for a friend of ours at his non-profit. It was a year commitment, with hopes from both sides, for it to be a much longer partnership. However, as is often the case with privately funded non-profits, there just wasn't funding to sustain his position beyond this year. So 2 weeks ago, after an awesome season with a dear friend, Jon ended his year there. Insert big fat question mark. Ok God, what now? 3 years ago, I was confident that if Jon needed a job, he could get one in an instant. He had been a full time worship leader for 16 years and was constantly contacted by churches with job offers. It wasn't uncommon for him to receive several calls or emails in a month, asking him to prayerfully consider coming on to "so and so church" staff. But that was what seems like a lifetime ago. A life where his degree in music, his experience in music, his passion for music all worked together for his employment. Now that's off the table. Ground zero is a scary place. There are a ton of rabbit trails. Which should we pursue? How do you start over at age 40? Where's my blasted bow?<br />
<br />
Tonight, Jon goes in for his big MRI. The MRI that reveals the state of his brain tumor. Has it grown? Is it the same? Did a miracle happen and it's gone? MRI's are often The Trigger for some emotional unraveling for me. We all have Triggers. You see That Person that triggers That Feeling. You read That Email that triggers That Emotion. You see That Post that triggers That Hurt. Triggers are all around us. And one of mine is when Jon gets called in for tests. What if? So. Many. Question. Marks. <br />
<br />
So I sit here and surrender My Plans once again. I sit here and watch God care for even the birds outside. I feel a twinge of comfort. Then I click on my blog and read from 2013. And 2014. And 2015. God is not going to stop being faithful now. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. My "new normal?" Not so much. My "new normal" has yet to be consistent. <br />
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"So I fix my eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." THAT is my "new normal." <br />
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Now where's my blasted bow.... ;) <br />
<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-58514266121544824622016-05-09T23:22:00.002-07:002017-05-09T15:21:41.856-07:00Twas the Day After Mother's Day...<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">#keepingitreal</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twas the day after Mother’s Day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And all through the house</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every room was a disaster and I had a poo stain on my blouse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids were all crying and fighting like crazy</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While yesterday’s amazing memories</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Became faded and hazy. </span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day before had been loving and sweet</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Breakfast in bed, homemade cards</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a mini retreat. </span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had relaxed and slept in a whole extra hour,</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And even shaved my legs </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a long, steamy shower. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was told “Mom, I love you! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You’re really the best”</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About 1 million times until I laid my head to rest.</span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then sometime between “good night” and “good morning” </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All bets were off - </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without any type of warning.</span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I woke to whining, crying</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And spills on the floor</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And in my 30 second shower, there were 17 knocks on my door. </span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kid 1 and Kid 2</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bickered and fought throughout the day</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While Kid 3 and Kid 4 chose not to obey</span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our trip to Target</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Was one for the books</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spilled slushees, smashed fingers, and lots of strangers giving “looks.”</span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But nothing compared </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To our dinner at CPK</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I can smell your butt from here!” is what my 3 year old chose to loudly say.</span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Did I mention my husband </span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is out of town until late?</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He *might* be coming home to a wife in an “unhealthy state.” </span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the kids now are in bed</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So no need to freak out</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just needed to keep it real with a good vent and a pout. </span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I treasure the memories</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of yesterday’s glory</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And hold on to the promise of 364 days until another “perfect day” story. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">;)</span></div>
deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-19247848780966653022016-05-06T10:09:00.003-07:002016-05-06T10:27:21.555-07:00The One Thing EVERY Mom Wants on Mother's Day.. And it's Not What You Think..."Give her the day off."<br />
"Do something active together."<br />
"Send her to the spa."<br />
"Don't send her to the spa, it's too crowded on Mother's Day at the spa."<br />
<br />
The messages are loud and clear. No, I take that back. The messages are loud and seriously confusing. Every article says something different. Every blog has a different formula. Just yesterday, I read a Facebook post that said, "Men, don't let your wife get off of the couch on Mother's Day." And directly underneath it was another Facebook post that said, "I find it seriously insulting that people think Mother's Day is about doing nothing. I want to go on a rigorous hike with my kids on Mother's Day." It's no wonder men approach this day with fear and trembling. They don't know how to "win." They <i>want </i>to win. They do. But every idea seems as good as the next and at the same time, as horrible as the next. Cooking your wife a home cooked meal could be a huge win. Or she could be ticked off that now there's a mess in the kitchen. Having the kids serve her breakfast in bed could really win her heart. Or it could make her seriously frustrated that she didn't get to sleep in longer. <br />
<br />
Men, do you want to know what <b>every</b> wife wants on Mother's Day? I'm serious. I know I just disputed the idea that every wife wants the same thing, because clearly that's not true. But this? This is what we all want. <br />
<br />
To be known.<br />
<br />
That's it. It's that simple. Know her. Like, really know her. Be a student of your wife. Know that your wife really wants to run a family 5K on Mother's Day. Or that she wants to sleep until 11. Know that she actually hates that big, fancy brunch and she'd rather eat a breakfast burrito from a yummy hole-in-the-wall joint. Not every mom wants the same thing. So know YOUR wife and love her how SHE desires to be loved. <br />
<br />
And if you still don't know or can't figure it out?<br />
<br />
Ask.<br />
<br />
Seriously. Just ask. Not in a, "Hey, so it's almost Mother's Day and I was wondering what you had planned?" kind of way. But in a, "Hey babe, Mother's Day is almost here and I want that day to be a celebration of who you are. I want you to feel loved and cared for. How can the kids and I honor you best on that day?" Ask it with love and with genuine interest. I know it's only 2 days away. The lie you may believe is that it's too late. It's not. <br />
<br />
Now moms, this is where our role comes in. If your husband asks you what you desire to do on Mother's Day, be gracious. Take it as a sign that he cares. Closing the gap between expectations and reality is a daunting journey. If your husband is willing to make the effort to close that gap, then receive it as an act of love. Don't belittle him for not knowing. Your relationship is a journey and whether he has you figured out already or he is intentionally continuing to seek you out, it's beautiful. It's all beautiful. <br />
<br />
And in just 6 short weeks, us moms get the opportunity to return the favor on Father's Day. So be gracious. And thankful. Seek to know and be known. And if it all falls flat? Choose grace. :) <br />
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<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-6506612324774511012016-03-17T22:12:00.003-07:002016-03-18T08:04:21.068-07:00Tons of Grace...I was racing to meet my In-laws, who were returning my 2 'Littles' to me after having them for a sleepover. I had left Jon at home with the rare opportunity to have a few hours of quiet in the house that he desperately needed. His seminary classes are intense this semester, so any moment of silence and space for study time is golden. My in-laws and I had found a great "halfway point" between our houses, and on this day, I was running late to our meeting place - the Bed, Bath and Beyond parking lot. I pulled in and searched for their jeep. I couldn't find it. Whew! I beat them here! As I pulled into a spot to wait, I began to read through some emails and scroll Facebook to pass the time. After a little while, I decided to text my mother-in-law to let her know I was here, but to take her time. (I know wrangling 2 Littles is a feat of its own.) That's when I saw it. The last text that was sent between us. "We will drive the Littles to your house at 1:00." Oh. Crap. I didn't read that text well the first time. <i>You can't skim over texts, Deanna! </i>I'm at the wrong place! I just drove 25 minutes for nothing. JON IS HOME FOR INTENTIONAL STUDY TIME AND 2 LITTLES ARE ON THEIR WAY! I quickly called Jon's cell.<br />
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Jon: Hey babe.<br />
Me: Um, hey. Are you home alone?<br />
Jon: Yup. Why?<br />
Me: Well, I'm sitting here at the "meeting place" to get the Littles... except I just re-read the text and your parents actually said they'd drive the Littles all the way to our house instead. I am so sorry, but they're going to be there any minute. I obviously didn't read the text closely. I've just been a mess lately. I forgot to run that one errand yesterday, and I haven't sent that letter I said I would, and..<br />
Jon: (interrupting my rant) Babe, I have tons of grace for you. Tons of grace. <br />
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That's where this story ends. Oh, of course the day continued on and there were 2 busy Littles and afternoon baseball practice and dinner on the run. But nothing mattered after those 3 words. <i><b>Tons of grace. I have tons of grace for you.</b></i> Has anyone ever said that to you? It stops you in your tracks. Quite honestly, it's been 2 weeks since that moment, and I still haven't gotten it out of my head. <br />
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We live in a day when grace is scarce. You messed up? I'm done. You disagree with me? Let's battle it out on social media. You let me down? You're cut off. These words, this phrase... <i>tons of grace</i>... it is counter cultural. Oh sure, we extend grace at times. But let's be honest. Most of the time we dabble in grace. A little here. A touch there. Not too much though, lest they miss the point that I'm HIGHLY offended. Not too much though, lest they think they're off the hook. <br />
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And if we're honest, the hardest people to extend grace to, are those closest to us. (Read: often times, family.) You know who I have tons of grace for? Neighbors. Friends. Other people's kids. But if my kids leave their backpack in the middle of the family room one more blasted time!??! Or my husband forgets that thing he pledged and promised to do?!? It's on like donkey kong! That's probably why Jon's words struck me so much. The one that's closest to me? The one I probably fail the most? THAT person has TONS of grace for me? It's ridiculously overwhelming. <br />
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Who do you have grace for? Who don't you have grace for? Where might you find an opportunity to extend <i>tons of grace?</i> I promise you, the opportunities are there. A spouse running late. A friend who flaked. Again. A neighbor who is too loud. A child who did that specific thing you said not to ever do. A driver who cut you off. A grocery checker who is slow. A waiter who messed up your order. <i>Tons of grace. Tons of grace. </i><br />
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2 weeks ago, I felt like God used Jon to invite me into a "tons of grace" type of living. <br />
I'm up for the challenge. Are you? <br />
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Let there be GRACE on Earth and let it begin with [God in] me. :) deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-8559662113860253752016-02-21T22:59:00.000-08:002016-02-22T09:24:47.643-08:00Hello. It's Me. ;)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you have a friend you know well, and you love, but you haven't talked to in a long time? You know the friend. The one you would love to reconnect with, but you would need at least 2 hours of heart-to-heart talking, just to start scratching the surface of the lost time. (3 of mine are pictured above) So when you're in between Point A and Point B and you have 5 minutes before arriving at Point B and your phone rings, and it's THAT FRIEND, your insides die a little because you know answering the phone won't work right now. 5 minutes isn't enough because you haven't talked in for-ever. So you let it go to voicemail because you can't possibly pick up the phone with the friend you need 2 hours with and be like, "Hey! Oh man, I'm good, how are you? Cool, I gotta run now." Because that would be weird and awkward and just not right. So you miss that call and wait for a time when you have some space to talk...and more and more time just goes by... And it's not because you don't love each other and want to talk. It's just that to re-connect properly, you would need time and space, and Lord knows that's a hot commodity these days.<br />
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OK. So that's me. With you. Yes, you. The one reading this right now. <br />
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The holidays hit the Ramsays (and the rest of the world, or course!) in full force. Lot's of speaking engagements, lots of neat opportunities, lots of decking halls and fa-la-la-ing. So. Fun. Not to mention Jon started his adventure with his new, post brain tumor part time job working with a non-profit + part time seminary student at Talbot. (which = full time awesome, amazing, crazy, FULL, exciting, pushed to the limit, life.) (see blog: "We're Out of the Waiting Room" from Sept. 15 for those details. I would link to it, but I DON'T KNOW WHAT THOSE STEPS WOULD BE. Don't judge me. I'm a hack blogger. A Hackgger. Whetevs.)<br />
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Then came January. Exhale. And then there was me going, "Man, I miss my blog. I miss the people I get to do life with via the blog." But, The Time. The 2 months that had passed. I couldn't just hop on and say "Oh hey! I'm good, how are you? Cool." I would need to sit and catch up. The whole "2 hours of heart-to-heart" thing. But who has space for that? <br />
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And then came the "other blogs." The ones I would see passed around social media. The ones that promised 10 days to a perfect marriage, 7 steps to the perfect kids and 5 steps of faith to receiving God's healing. All while I walked through divorces with dear friends who DID ALL THE STEPS, and counseled parents WHO USED THE BLASTED FORMULA, and I spent time with my sick mother who WE HAVE HAD ALL THE FAITH FOR. So many promises. So many formulas. The idea of blogging got less and less appealing. I'm not like them. I don't have all the answers. I can promise nothing outside of whatever Jesus Himself has promised. I have a husband who we pray healing over daily, who has yet to be fully healed. I have kids who love Jesus but don't pick up their Bible on their own. I have a load of laundry in the washer that's going on it's 3rd time through because WHY CAN'T ANYONE REMIND ME TO PUT IT IN THE DRYER THE SAME DAY? The struggle is so freaking real. <br />
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Then there were the articles on social media that actually said something really, really well. Like, life-changingly well. Like, life and hope and truth. And my dirty laundry (literally) just seemed like it had no place next to real, legit fancy people.<br />
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So time went by. And things would happen and I'd think, "Oh man, I'd love to share that on the blog. Oh wait, that would be weird. I can't be like, "Pray for Jon - he had social anxiety for the first time ever and I think it's related to his hearing loss but we don't know for sure" because you'd be like, "Woah, slow down the train. Who are you again?" But whatever. Here I am. This is our 2 hour talk. Our re-introduction. Because God hasn't released me from this Living Out Loud thing. So I'm here.<br />
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Well, I was here. But the spin cycle is done and for the love of all things good and holy, I CANNOT wash that load one more time. deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-2954858279624756042015-10-01T10:57:00.002-07:002015-10-01T14:28:11.495-07:002 Years Ago Today.... (my personal therapy...remembering through writing) Part 1<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(55, 62, 77); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #373e4d; font-family: Helvetica;">
It was 2 years ago, today. Jon and I had just gotten home from leading worship at a conference at Hume Lake. Well, Jon actually never got to lead worship with me. He stayed in our room the entire weekend - with a horrible headache and throwing up. I couldn't even turn the lights on. He was miserable. As we drove home though, he started to feel better. <i> It must have been a 48 hour flu</i>. By the time we got home and the whole next day, the headache was still there, but was much more mild. No more vomiting. </div>
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The following morning, Tuesday, Oct 1, Jon went to sit up in bed and he grabbed his head and buried it back into his pillow. "Ow, my head still hurts!" He laid there for a few minutes and then slowly sat back up. <i>He was fine. He must have just sat up too quickly. </i> I rolled over and told him I would call our family doctor and get him an appointment. He said he didn't need to go to the doctor. I told him he should at least get checked out after vomiting all weekend. He reluctantly agreed, and I was able to get him a 4pm appointment for later that day. At 3:45, I received a text from Jon. "Not gonna make my appointment. In a meeting. I feel fine. Please call and cancel." <i>Okie dokie</i>. I canceled his appointment and got ready for Jon's parents who were coming over for dinner to celebrate Morgan's 2nd birthday. Having 4 kids was kicking my butt. Our surprise #4 (Reese) was only 8 months old and life was busy - I felt like I still hadn't figured out how to do 'life' as a party of 6. </div>
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Jon's parents arrived, Jon got home from work, we had dinner, celebrated Mo, and then Jon took Jackson outside to throw the football around. My mother-in-law pulled me aside. "I'm concerned about Jon. He doesn't get bad headaches like he did last weekend. Why don't you take him to the ER while we're here and can watch the kids. I know he won't go if I (his mom) tell him to. But if you can persuade him to go, I think he will listen to you. You might as well just get him looked at." I told her I didn't think I could convince him, but I'd try. Jon's Pop then pulled me aside. "Mary Ann is really concerned about Jon and how sick he was this past weekend. And she's not going to rest until she knows he's ok. Which means I won't get to rest either. ;) If you can get him to go to the ER, it would give her peace of mind." The 3 of us broached the subject with Jon between football tosses with Jackson. He thought it was the silliest idea. "I'm going to the ER because of a head ache? No way. So lame. Besides, I'm not spending $100 to go to the ER." (money was very tight) Jon’s parents ended up leaving… and returning after 10 minutes. They had driven to the ATM and arrived back on our doorstep, handed Jon a $100 bill, and said, “Just go. We’ll watch the kids.” On the way to the hospital, Jon and my conversation went like this:</div>
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Jon: What am I supposed to say when we get there? My mom made me come because I got a headache? </div>
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Me: Well, let’s tell them about the head ache and the vomiting. And you should also mention your hearing loss in your right ear. (For several months, Jon had noticed he had hearing loss in his right ear. Because he wears in-ear monitors to lead worship several times a week, he thought he had blown out one of his eardrums.)</div>
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Jon: OK. I’ll tell them that. I guess I could also tell them that for the past week, the right side of my face has felt kinda numb and tingly. </div>
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Me: (<i>eyeballs HUGE, freaking out inside, but staying totally cool and calm on the outside</i>) Um, ya. I guess you could mention that too. I didn't know about that. (<i>Seriously babe!? Why haven’t you mentioned that?!</i>) </div>
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Jon: I think I just need to eliminate gluten or dairy and my tingly face will go away. People say that fixes everything. </div>
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We arrived at the ER and as we walk in, Jon told the doctor how embarrassed he is for being there just for a headache…but his mom is making him come. :) He told the doctor of the headaches and vomiting… of the hearing loss and the numb face. The doctor decided to do a CT scan. Then before doing the scan, the doctor had Jon pull on his arm with each hand. </div>
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“Are you left handed?” He asked Jon. </div>
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“Nope. Right handed.” </div>
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“Hmm.. that’s interesting. Because your left arm is stronger than your right arm.”<br />
“There’s no way. My right arm is definitely stronger.” Jon told him.</div>
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“OK let’s try again.” (<i>has Jon pull on his arms again</i>) “Nope, your right arm is definitely weaker.” (<i>then has Jon push against him with each leg</i>) “Your right leg is too. Your right side is definitely weaker than your left. I’m going to do an MRI. No, I’m going to do an MRI with contrast. Let’s get an IV in you and get this going.” <br />
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I snapped this pic of him in our ER room... before he was wheeled away for tests.<br />
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From there, it all happened so fast and so slow all at the same time.</div>
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They wheeled Jon back to the MRI room. I walked behind him. They took him into the room. I sat in the tiny MRI waiting room. And waited. And waited. I posted on Facebook, asking for prayer. I wasn't sure if I was being dramatic by asking for prayer or if I was being wise. <i>I'm sure everything would be fine.</i> I heard the technician ask Jon why he had come in tonight. <i>Hmm.. That’s interesting. Maybe he didn’t see anything on the scan, so was curious what brought him in. </i> Jon was soon being wheeled back to our room in the ER and we sat there, waiting to be discharged. After a little while, the ER doctor walked into our room, closed the door behind him, and sat down. “I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is you don’t have meningitis or a brain aneurysm. I thought it could have been either of those things. The bad news is, I found a massive tumor in your brain. You are not going home. You are being admitted to Intensive Care Unit and you are going to be having brain surgery in the next 24 hours. I am so sorry.” Shock was our emotion. Jon asked when he’d be out of the hospital. He told them he was hosting the National Worship Leader Conference on Friday. He wanted to know if he’d be out by then. It was a big weekend for him, he explained. They were gracious and gently told him he should probably cancel that. </div>
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“<i>Can’t talk right now. Will try to call in the next 20 minutes. Please pray. Jon has a tumor on his brain. Getting admitted to ICU tonight. Probably having brain surgery in next 24 hours</i>.” This the text I sent to my family at 11:58pm on October 1, 2013. </div>
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I slipped into the hallway and made those middle of the night phone calls you never want to make or receive. Jon was wheeled up to the ICU where he was told basically to not move. He wasn’t even allowed to walk to the bathroom. The doctor pulled me aside. “You must get some sleep tonight. I know that sounds crazy right now. But tomorrow you are going to get A LOT of information. Jon will not be able to process it all. It will be up to YOU to listen and make decisions. If you don’t sleep, all you will hear is “Wah..wah..wah..” You need a clear mind. Sleep.” I couldn’t begin to even process what he was saying - How would I possibly process tomorrow’s information? By now it was 2am. I tucked Jon into his bed at ICU and drove home to gather some of his belongings. I pulled into our driveway. Crap. The kids. What will I tell the kids? Jon’s parents were on our couch. They said they would spend the night. I walked up the stairs. Jon blesses each of our kids every night before bed. I walked into each child’s room while they slept and said the blessing. “May the Lord bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you. May He lift up His countenance to you and bring you peace. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” 4 times over. I cried each time. I cannot do this alone. What if this is what my life looks like from now on? Will Jon ever make it home? I crawled into my bed. I had to lay down. And I had to be here for the kids when they woke in the morning. They had to hear it from me. What would I tell them? Why wasn’t daddy home? What was going to happen to daddy? I had no answers. </div>
deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-72122747221317110362015-09-15T12:28:00.001-07:002015-09-15T12:29:50.044-07:00We're Out of the Waiting Room!!!<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica;">
For 1 year, 11 months, and 15 days, Jon and I have been in a Waiting Room. Not physically, although we’ve definitely sat in our fair share of those. We’ve been in the Waiting Room of life. I have blogged about it. I have talked about it. I have been thankful for it. I have complained about it. I have been patient and I have been impatient. I have had excited anticipation and I’ve been annoyed. I have felt the full range of emotions about this room. This room where we have been invited to wait and trust. And seek and listen. We have spent much of our time in the Waiting Room on our knees. We have sat in silence, longing to hear even a whisper of what God would reveal to us. And He did. He continued to say, “Wait patiently.” Sometimes I received that beautifully. Other times I rejected it, kicking and screaming. Do you know how frustrating it is to want to move on in life but instead, you hear, “Wait.” Let alone, “Wait <i>patiently</i>”!??! The nerve. ;) But He continued to speak the same thing. And when I’d think that he had forgotten about measly little us, sitting in the Waiting Room, He would show up. He would reveal His presence and remind us of His sovereignty. He would reassure. He’s so gracious like that. </div>
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And so we continued to wait. Sometimes patiently. Sometimes not-so-patiently. But incredibly, we have not twiddled our thumbs in the Waiting Room. No, God was kind enough to give us ‘work’ to do there. He <i>used</i> us in the Waiting Room. How gracious He is. </div>
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And then not only did He use us, but he taught us. He taught us about what any good dad or mom would: our posture. Like a mom who is constantly reminding her child to sit up straight. Or a dad who is reminding his child to make eye contact. Our Father taught us the importance of our hands. Think about the most precious thing you own. Now imagine being able to hold it in your hands. Would you want to hold it loosely? No way! You wouldn’t want to risk it being dropped or broken or stolen. You would hold it tight and close to you. You would protect it with all that you are. Well God, in his incredible upside down economy, invited us to do the opposite of what our instincts told us. Our instincts said, “We’ve lost a lot. We better hold on to whatever we have left! We better take what we have in our hands and really protect it and try to make the most out of it.” Everything in our world says that is the smart way to live. And yet God invited us pry our tight fisted grip wide open. Not just a little, like a loose grip. But full-on hands opened wide, fingers flat, palms facing up. “Leave your palms up. Lay everything you have in your hands. Everything you love. Everything you hate. Every secret hope and every extravagant dream. Put it in your hands and leave your hands open. Trust that I will take out of your hands what you don’t need and put into your hands what you do.” His voice was so clear.</div>
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And so that’s what we did. We waited. And we waited. Palms up. Hands open wide. And there were times when the Waiting Room door was cracked open. And we thought we heard our name being called. Job opportunities, ministry invitations.. they came and we asked, “God, was that our name being called? Is this what you’re putting in our hands?” “Wait patiently,” was His response. Yet again and again. </div>
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And then a few weeks ago, we heard it. Loud and clear. “Ramsay Family! Ramsay, Jon Ramsay!” We were invited out of the Waiting Room! It was so surreal. You want to know exactly <i>how</i> I heard this? (it was different for Jon and I.. but this was my experience) I was in church worshiping - singing a song I know and love. And as I was singing, I had my hands directly in front of me - wide open, with palms facing up... Singing a song of surrender and following God. Singing the same words and in the same posture I had been for almost 2 years. And as I was lost in the music, with my heart totally surrendered, my hands all of a sudden felt heavy. I know. This is crazy talk, right? I’m just telling you what happened. My opened hands, palms facing up, felt a physical weight on them. And right then I heard, “You have waited on me. You have lived your life open handed. I have now put something in your hands. Go. Your next season starts now.” </div>
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A few days later, Jon was officially offered an incredible job. We took time to pray over it. God confirmed this was it. And so after 16 years as a pastor, and 6 years on staff at Mariners Church, and 2 years after a brain tumor stripped him of the ability to do what he has always vocationally done, Jon resigned and accepted a position with the non-profit “I Like Giving.” He also is going to seminary at Talbot to get his masters in Spiritual Formation and Soul Care. Wow. Crazy. Amazing. These are the words that come to mind. It’s been 8 days since we left the Waiting Room. 8 days of fun and excitement and passion and gratitude. 8 days of reflecting on God’s faithfulness. His sovereignty. His goodness. His loving care. Wow. Crazy. Amazing.</div>
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If you are in the Waiting Room, know that you are not alone. God is there with you. He will use you. He will teach you. He will bless you. He won’t be early in calling you out of there but he also won’t be late. And if you hear an odd sounding voice that doesn’t quite sound right to you, and you see the door cracked open a little bit, and a name is called that kind of sounds like yours but it’s pronounced wrong and it’s misspelled on your file? It’s not for you! Don’t settle. Don’t jump at the first thing that you think will rescue you from the season of Waiting. Be patient. (And when you can’t be patient, know that God’s grace covers it. Trust me. I know.) :) And when the time is right, your name will be called. And boy will it be worth the wait. His love for you is personal. His knowledge of you is intimate. His gifts for you are good. And when He calls you out, you won’t just see the door cracked open a tiny bit. The Waiting Room doors will swing wide open! And you can walk out of there, confident that He who began a good work in you was faithful to complete it.<br />
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Amen and amen. </div>
deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-69232060450872736472015-08-31T14:04:00.001-07:002015-08-31T21:05:26.294-07:00Single Moms - Your #1 Job Might be to DITCH Your Boyfriend...<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica;">
Last Wednesday evening, I had one of the most amazing experiences of my life as well as one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. And they happened at the exact same time. I was able to score some tickets to the Taylor Swift concert for my daughter’s 9th birthday and I cannot express to you the sheer joy I felt as I watched my daughter dance carefree, singing along at the top of her lungs, and staring in awe and wonder at the lights, dancers and THE Taylor Swift. It was magical. And at the exact same time, my world was absolutely rocked as I listened to a young girl sitting behind me get screamed at, cussed at, and berated by her mom’s boyfriend. There are no words to adequately describe what I heard and saw. </div>
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We were dancing our hearts out in the middle of one of the songs and all of a sudden I hear a man’s voice screaming behind me. Every other word was a profanity and as I glanced to see what was going on, I found a very petite young girl, probably 11 years old at the most, wide eyed with tears streaming down her cheeks. In between the man and the young girl, sat the young girl’s mom. She sat silent, while her boyfriend leaned over her, getting in the young girl’s face with “f-ing this” and “f-ing that,” berating her at the top of his lungs. When he would lunge toward her with threats of leaving the concert or taking away her cell phone, the mom would push him back a little, telling him to calm down. He had a bottle of beer in his hand. There was no calming him down. Soon the young girl was sobbing, no, whaling. It was a guttural cry. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally sat back against his chair. The young girl sat silently, while her mom turned to her and put her arm around her to make sure she was ok. The young girl proceeded to ask her mom why she let him scream at her. The young girl then said, “Mom, he doesn’t even respect you or listen to you - he wouldn’t calm down when you asked him to.” Instantly, the mom removed her arm around her daughter and started berating her own daughter. “You know what? YOU’RE the reason he did that! You provoked him! It is all YOUR fault!” And on and on she went, hurt and defensive from her young daughter’s statement. The girl started sobbing again. The mom rolled her eyes, then turned to her boyfriend, kissed him, and put her arm around him. The line had been drawn. Her allegiance was clear. This young girl had no one. She had no safe place. I wanted to slip her a note. “Meet me in the bathroom. I’ll help you escape!” I wanted to say. Clearly that would be illegal. I felt helpless in the moment. The boyfriend was intoxicated and he was a BIG guy. I felt fearful for my own physical well being (as well as my daughter’s) at the thought of jumping in. Perhaps I should have. The best I could do was keep turning around to let him know I could hear and was upset. He could care less. </div>
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What happened next was absolutely insane. Taylor Swift started singing another song and it was one that everyone loved. The boyfriend jumped to his feet, hollering in excitement and then stood on his chair - waving his hands in the air, dancing. The mom hopped to her feet, singing at the top of her lungs. They were laughing and happy. Almost like they had just gotten A HIGH off of what had just happened. And the young girl? She hopped up too, following their lead. She turned off her emotions and jumped back into ‘concert mode.’ She pulled out her phone and started recording the beloved song, singing along. They walked out of the arena that night as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. And I was still sick to my stomach.</div>
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I have never, EVER heard someone talk to a child like I did that night. And yet I know it happens every night. Somewhere.</div>
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Single moms: Your #1 job in this world is to love and protect your children. I know you are lonely. I can only imagine how difficult it is to raise children alone. My mother-in-law was a single mom for a season, and I have heard of the weight she carried. I am so sorry you are in that difficult position. I know you want a partner to do life with. Someone to help carry the load. I also know that at your core, you just want to love and be loved. That is a very valid desire. I don’t think there’s a person in this world who doesn’t want that for themselves. But because your #1 job is to love and protect your child, that means you have to date with caution. No matter how good looking, how much money he has, how good his intentions…. if he doesn’t help you accomplish your #1 job, he should have no place in your life. If you think it’s “normal” and/or acceptable for a boyfriend to yell and scream, it’s not. It’s just not. At you or your child. A loving relationship doesn’t consist of rage. Even if he tells you he’s sorry. Even if he tries to buy you a gift to show his remorse. The damage is too great. To yourself and to your kids. Love yourself enough to raise the standard. And if you can’t love yourself enough, love your child enough. You are teaching your kids what a healthy dating life looks like. What a healthy relationship looks like. Stop the cycle of pain. Show them what strength really looks like. When your kids are grown and out of the house? Fine. Date who you like. (though it will still ruin your life, at least you’re not ruining other young lives in the process) But for now, choose your child. Every time. <br />
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To married moms and dads: The above goes for us too. </div>
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To young kids: If your mom (or dad) is dating someone who is unhealthy or unsafe, tell someone. If your mom or dad is unsafe, tell someone. If no one in your family is a safe person, talk to a teacher, school counselor, or church leader. If nothing else, start with a trusted friend. But whatever you do, TELL. I want you to know this: It is not ok. Rage is not ok. Even if you messed up. Even if you made a mistake. Even if you “provoked it.” The response should never be rage and swearing and degradation. You are of great worth. You are special. There is no other “you” in this world. No matter what you are told or how you are made to feel, you have a purpose in this world. Don’t let anyone hold you back from fulfilling that purpose.</div>
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Look. I know this is a gray area. It was toward the end of the concert and I honestly thought, “If I go and get a security guard, by the time I get back up here, the concert will be over. And what are they going to do? He only yelled at her. He didn’t lay a hand on her or threaten any bodily harm.” Was it ugly? Yes. But was it illegal? Probably not. My quick online research in the moment revealed that there are very few steps that can be done to help in a situation like this. So, to the blog I went. </div>
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Parents - Single or Married - Let’s love our kids toward better behavior. The shaming and rage and anger is not going to produce the behavior change we want. I mean, maybe for a time, behavior modification can work with enough fear based parenting. But to reach their heart and have life long behavioral changes, we must start with love. Love and protection. From whoever it may be - boyfriend, girlfriend, coach, teacher, parent’s friend… It’s our #1 job. </div>
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And to Staples Center - Maybe, just maybe, one thing that you could do to help in this… stop serving alcohol at events that are mostly attended by children and their parents. The majority of the audience that night consisted of parents and their kids. Clearly alcohol isn’t an appropriate ingredient in a “parent/child night out.” Not to mention for the drive home.</div>
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And finally to Taylor Swift - We love you and loved your show. Thank you for a magical evening and hopefully for lessons learned.</div>
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deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-77959234486568420952015-07-07T16:08:00.001-07:002015-07-07T16:11:11.164-07:00Jon's Latest MRI Results... Well, we just walked out of our appointment with Jon's neurosurgeon to go over the results of the MRI. Can I just say how grateful I am for the sovereignty of God? Jon had fears associated with both possible outcomes of this test and yet we are completely dependent on God and His perfect will for Jon's life. <br />
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The MRI results showed NO major growth in Jon's tumor! There was a possible minor change in the base of the tumor, but not enough to be worried or take action at this point. The neurosurgeon said, and I quote, "If you are brave, we could drill back into the skull and do another 12 hour surgery and try to remove more of the tumor. Only if you're feeling brave." (It was a bit tongue in cheek) ;) We told him we are NOT feeling that brave. ;)<br />
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He did recommend doing a panel of blood work to help navigate through some of Jon's symptoms. <br />
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The bottom line is that Jon's fear of them "finding nothing and having this just be his new normal" may just be reality. We were able to chat with another brain tumor survivor who said she experiences the same symptoms that Jon does.. and she's about 2 years further along on her journey than Jon. Hm. I know typically that should make someone feel better. "Normal" at least. But to Jon, it's scary. It makes him feel trapped. As we stood in the parking lot after his appointment, Jon admitted he walked into the appointment feeling "open handed" and walked out feeling burdened. And trust me, we can throw scripture and God's goodness all over this situation. It's not that. It's just the human-ness wanting to be well. Fully well. No symptoms. Nothing holding any parts of him back. A thriving body. We still fight to navigate the space between considering this our "new normal" or "hoping this is a temporary 'new normal' - until he is fully healed." But what if this <i>is</i> just the "new normal?" Like, period. What if these symptoms of him "not feeling well" are actually the new normal of what he should now be calling, "feeling well" in his new state? Ugh. <br />
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I paused writing this to call Jon and said he was on a walk. He said, "I feel like I just took a nose dive." So he's walking. And praying. And surrendering. Once again. <br />
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This should be a REALLY HAPPY post. And it is. There was no new growth! (insert happy dance, right?!) But in an attempt to "live out loud" and walk this road openly and honestly, I share with you the messy stuff too. The complicated, confusing, battle ground pains. Thank you for covering us with grace on the journey. <br />
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I started this post by worshiping God for His sovereignty. And that's where I want to wrap it up, too. <br />
It's the beauty of trusting in and having relationship with a perfect God. We declare who He is. We give Him our junk. And then we rest in who He is. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Sometimes several times a day. We remind ourselves of who He is. We bring our brokenness, hurts, desires, hopes, EVERYTHING to Him. And then we exhale into His arms. <br />
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Thank you for praying. Thank you for loving.<br />
We are grateful to be journeying alongside such gracious, patient warriors.<br />
XOdeanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-1452004832201939252015-06-25T11:12:00.000-07:002015-06-25T11:12:13.060-07:00Jon's Having An Unplanned MRI.... Hello there.<br />
Yes, you. The one who chose to read this blog, knowing it's about Jon and his brain tumor journey. Thanks for being here. Still.<br />
It's been awhile since I've written on this topic. I'm sitting here trying to figure out why that is. It's not because there's nothing to say. I think it's because we got tired of talking about it. Or maybe we thought you were tired of hearing about it. Hmmm... Not sure. Well, regardless, we're here again, asking for prayer.<br />
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For the past little while, Jon has not been feeling his best. Several times while walking up the stairs, he has tripped or lost his balance. Then a few weeks ago, Jon fell off of a ladder. (Jon has always had really great balance. I mean, he even climbed Mt Whitney last year, post surgery! So this is not "normal" for him.) A few days after his fall, he put in a really long, physically intense work day in Mexico where he led our church on a trip to build a house for a family in need. Since that day, his body has been completely worn out and has not been able to recover. Anyway, there are some other issues he has been experiencing, but the bottom line is his Neurosurgeon has decided he would like to do an MRI to see if the tumor is growing again and causing these issues. (His routine MRI was not scheduled for several more months) <br />
So tonight, at 9pm, Jon is going to the hospital for his MRI. <br />
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I will be honest for Jon here. (I think he'll give me this freedom) :) Jon does't know which he is more scared of:<br />
1) the possibility that they find something in the MRI<br />
or<br />
2) the possibility that they will find nothing in the MRI, but instead, they'll tell Jon this is just his 'new normal.' <br />
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Either way, he's scared. Would you pray for him? Ultimately, of course our prayer is that they find NOTHING bad in this MRI. Our prayer is always that the tumor would be gone! And at the same time, we continue to pray for healing from what is going on. Complete healing. Healing in Jon's balance, his endurance, his strength... Healing for his eye, his facial paralysis, even his hearing. God is able! <br />
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Thank you. <br />
Thank you for praying. Again. And again. <br />
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Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen. - Ephesians 3:20<br />
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<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-25305210955676945562015-06-01T12:09:00.001-07:002015-06-01T12:09:22.205-07:00One of THE Best Gifts You Can Give Your Child....The week before my wedding, my dad and I were on a lunch date and he looked at me and said, "Deanna, is there anything you wish I would have done better as a parent? Is there anything I need to apologize for?" "Hmmm.." I thought for a moment, "I wish you would have put me in sports. You saw I had musical talent and so that is all you encouraged me toward. But I wish I would have also been encouraged toward being an athlete." He looked at me with kind eyes and said, "You're right. I am so sorry your mom and I didn't do that. Will you forgive me?" I laughed a little, as clearly this wasn't something that he needed forgiveness for. Thinking through 21 years of growing up, and my one complaint was that my parents encouraged me toward what was clearly a special gift and didn't encourage me toward what was clearly not my gift? I'd say we were doing alright. ;) <br />
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The profound thing in that lunchtime moment, was that the question my dad asked me was absolutely, completely normal in our home. My dad and mom would always check in with us. They would always be seeking to 'right' any 'wrongs.' I have such beautiful memories of my dad or mom walking into my room, sitting on my bed, and saying, "I'm so sorry for how I reacted in ---- situation today. Will you forgive me?" Or "I didn't handle ---- fairly today. I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?" There was no pride. And if there was ever a moment when pride would try to sneak in, it was openly talked about. I remember a few times my mom was struggling to admit fault in a situation where she clearly was in the wrong. She kind of talked in circles and I remember my dad saying, "I feel like we're on the show 'Happy Days' and The Fonz won't admit he's wrong. You know how he has to stutter it out "I was wr-wr-wr-wr-wrong." We all laughed and that became a "thing" in our family for my mom. If she would ever find herself talking in circles, trying to justify something she had done, she would pause and go, "OK. I was wr-wr-wr-wr-wrong." We laughed. And loved. And offered grace.<br />
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As a mom of 4 today, I now marvel at the incredible display of honesty, intentionality, and humility my dad and mom parented with. When I think of the gifts I want to pass down to my kids, these rank on the top of the list. <br />
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This past week, Jon and I called a family meeting with our party of 6. We had been sensing tension in our home. Not a lot of patience, bad tone of voice, getting angry quick... the list of what we were seeing/experiencing was getting long. We were definitely in need of a re-boot. We sat down as a family and Jon and I started out by apologizing. We confessed the areas where we were not being the best of who we are. (impatient, frustration turning to anger, overreacting...) We gave specific instances. We asked for their forgiveness. Then we talked about the tone of our home and what we were seeing in the kids interactions with each other and us. The kids joined the conversation and talked about where they thought they could improve - even apologizing to each other and us. We set out a new plan. Reminded ourselves of who we want to be. And then we prayed together, asking God to help us to live that out. <br />
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The gift of humility in parenting is so important and so beautiful. Our kids need to know we are not perfect. They need to know that we need forgiveness just as much as they do. They need to know that when they mess up, we are a safe place to come to and confess it. Because we understand the desperation for grace. <br />
And when we prove to be a safe, loving, grace-giver, we teach them to be safe, loving, grace-givers. And this world begins to heal. One person at a time. One relationship at a time. <br />
But it starts with me. And you. <br />
Maybe in a family meeting in your living room.<br />
Or maybe at a coffee shop a week before your daughter's wedding. <br />
It's never too late. And it's never too early.<br />
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....Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me...<br />
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<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-47745253195226217532015-05-07T13:50:00.002-07:002015-05-07T13:50:34.560-07:00My Tween's Attitude and My God's Grace...My oldest child, Jackson, is apparently a "tween." I didn't know that was a real thing until recently. I have always thought of everything before 'being a teenager' as a really fun and sweet stage. And then I imagine the teen years as being really fun and hormonal. ;) But apparently there is thing thing called being a "tween" and I didn't realize how Real it was until recently, when my almost 11 year old super sweet, kind, respectful son spoke to me in a tone of voice that, well, let me just say it was a tone of voice that made me want to put him over my knee for a spanking. If only he were 2. ;) My eyeballs got big and my heart started racing and it. got. real. My husband and I both stared at each other, speechless. We held our tongues and through gritted teeth sent him to his room. We clearly needed a minute to gather our thoughts (and our jaws off the floor). For several minutes we prayed and asked God for wisdom. We wanted to reach his HEART. We know we can force his behavior. We know we can tell him that something he did is wrong and give him a consequence. We know we can force his hand and have him preform how we want him to. But what good is that in the long term? We want to reach his heart.<br />
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We didn't feel a ton of clarity on what to say, but our hearts were beating at a normal rate again, so we walked into Jackson's room. We began talking together and Jackson was very defensive. We explained why his tone matters and why it's not ok. And then we went on to remind him of who he is. Jackson is kind. He is gentle. He is respectful. He is loving. The way he had spoken to me wasn't really "him." At least not the best version of him. After a few minutes, Jackson started to cry. I'll never forget what he said through his tears. "I know I'm not supposed to talk like that. And I don't <i>want</i> to talk like that. But sometimes I feel like I can't control myself." Eek! I couldn't contain my excitement. "Oh Jackson," I said. "I'm so glad that you feel like that. I love that you were able to express that to us. You know why? Because THIS is how you know that you need a savior. THIS is how we know we need Jesus. Because we ALL mess up. We ALL make mistakes. And when we know the right thing to do, and we don't do it? That's sin. And when we acknowledge that we didn't do the right thing, we realize how desperately we need God's grace. Dad and I need it. You need it. And these moments just highlight it. What a beautiful reminder. And you know what? You're right. You can't control yourself. But I remember sitting with you when you prayed and asked God to come into your life. You surrendered your life to Him and His spirit is now with you and in you. Always. So although you can't control your tongue, His spirit <i>can</i>! We are not patient and kind and gentle and have self control by nature. But God <b>in</b> us helps us to be those things. And when we mess up, because we all are going to mess up at times, He offers His grace. I love that you got to experience your need for His help today. Because daddy and I need it every single day. Welcome to the club." <br />
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We talked for awhile more and hugged and then left Jackson in his room. He was laying on his bed and just needed time to process. Jon and I went back into our room, cleaning up our closets and folding laundry. I continued to pray for Jackson - that God would reach his tween heart. After about 40 minutes, Jackson came into our room with a completely different spirit. He almost had a spring in his step. He excitedly said to Jon, "Dad, I was just in my room praying and I felt like God told me that I just need to start over. That I needed a 'do-over.' So dad, can I have a do-over? Can I start today over?" Jon gave him a huge hug and said, "ABSOLUTELY." I peeked from around the corner and smiled at him. "Jackson, you can always have a do-over. Any time you ask for a 'do-over' the answer will be yes. Daddy and I need "do overs" all the time. And because God gives them infinitely to us, we will give them infinitely to you." <br />
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Friends, I don't know about you, but I was preaching to myself as much as I was preaching to Jackson. Do my failures push me down into a pit where I focus on my inadequacies? Or do they simply highlight my need for a savior and propel me toward worship? Do they weigh me down? Or do they compel me toward repentance and ultimately freedom? <br />
Do you need a "do-over"? Me too. <br />
Need another one in 5 minutes? God's grace is deep enough, wide enough, high enough. <br />
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God, help us to love our babies how you love them. Help us to reach their hearts. Help us to heap on the grace. And when it's needed again? Give us the extra portions. Thank you for the grace you lavish on us. It is extravagant and knows no bounds. May our failures only propel us toward humility and ultimately toward You. May we live in the knowledge of Your unconditional love and may we extend that same gift to those whose lives intersect ours. <br />
With hearts bursting full of gratitude, Amen. <br />
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<br />deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-26263230899747206992015-04-10T17:41:00.003-07:002015-04-10T17:44:02.025-07:00I'm Either Depressed or I Need a Nap....<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I’m either depressed or I need a nap.” I said to Jon, a few weeks ago. I laughed as I said it, imagining myself telling my friends, “I thought I was depressed. Turns out I just needed a nap! Who knew?!?” LOL! (Hmm.. I wonder how many other “fake depressed” people are out there, who just need a freaking vacation?) The truth is, I didn’t know which one it was. All I knew was I was not myself. Wait, let me rephrase that. I am currently not myself. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a 24 hour, every day thing. But the “whole” of me is just not feeling “whole.” Things that usually roll right off my back have started to ruffle me. If something “bad” happens at 9am, my whole day feels shot. If you know me, you know that is so not “me.” The “me” I’ve been my whole life is laid back, easy going and generally happy. The “me” I have been recently seems more skeptical, easily defeated, and fragile. The best compliment my husband has ever given me was when he told me, “Babe, you are easy to come home to.” I mean, come on. How cool is that to hear from your husband!?! I pride myself on being a low-maintenance wife. (his words, not mine) ;) But for several days, I found Jon coming home, looking at me and saying, “How are you doing today, babe?” His demeanor and vibe was definitely testing out the temperature of home-life that day. He just wanted to know what he’s walking in on - a happy wife, a tired wife, a frustrated mom? In the past, he’s always come home to a pretty even keeled wife. Even on my hardest days as a mom, I’ve never “tapped out” when Jon’s walked in the door. But for the past few weeks, I’ve found his presence to be sweet relief to my tired soul. I just couldn’t put my finger on the “why.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I shared my current struggle with my community group. I shared it with friends. Heck, if I’ve run into you lately and you’ve asked me how I’m doing, I’ve probably told you! I’m a “live out loud” kind of girl and I just know I’m not ‘the best version of Deanna’ right now. I’ve been working out and eating healthy. And Lord knows my Graves Disease, radiation-demolished thyroid is no help. But deep down, I know it’s beyond that. I have had several friends, after listening to me talk about this, ask if I want to go on medication. Now I do not judge anyone who is on medication for depression. I’ve sat with friends who have suffered through depression and in the truest sense of the phrase, I know ‘the struggle is REAL.’ However, I knew that my struggle was not a chemical imbalance. I wanted to get to the core of my brokenness. Not mask it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So last Tuesday night, as Jon and I sat with a small group of trusted advisors and friends, as we were all sharing about what God is doing in our lives, I blurted out, “My burden is heavy.” As the words came out of my mouth, I knew it. THIS. IS. IT. I'm not depressed. And a nap isn't going to fix anything. <b>My burden is freaking heavy. </b> All sorts of Bible verse swirled in my head… “My burden is light..” says the Lord. “Cast your cares upon Me.” He reminds. “My yolk is easy..” He promises. But I wasn’t living in any of that. My cares weighed approximately 10,000 tons and they seemed to make their home on my person, like a parasite, eating me away. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I. Can’t. Live. Like. This. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>“You weren’t created to live like this, my sweet daughter.” </i>He whispered. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“SHHH!” I said. “I can’t hear my fears and doubt when you’re talking to me. The fears and doubts are important. They need time and attention. They are real, valid things, ok? What if… what if…” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You guys. My burden has been so freaking heavy. 18 months ago, when life turned upside down, God literally carried me. His peace ruled my heart. His faithfulness was undeniable. Well, 18 months later, I think I took a look around me and went, “Holy crap. Is this really my life? Is this really my new normal? How did I get 4 kids? 4 kids is a lot. And my husband is on disability. Still. Because he can’t do his job. The job he’s done for the past 16 years and went to college to get his degree in. He’s starting over at ground zero. And the singing we’ve done together - literally traveling the world together - will never be the same again.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then fear and doubt started to seep into other areas… “I live in Orange County. Do I really fit in the OC? Does the OC like me? Does it like my kids? I mean, we’re SO not the high income earning, sports excelling family.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then it crept from fear and doubt into ungratefulness… “Look at everything in my house. Everything in my house is either hand-me-downs or gifts from people. I used to walk in here every day, overwhelmed with gratitude for how God provides. Now I look around and think, “I didn’t get to pick any of this out. It’s just what others have given me. Is my home even “mine?” I don’t like it anymore.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fear and doubt and ungratefulness are liars. LIARS. They have led me down a pit that is heavy. Oh so heavy. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now let me clarify, I don’t live in the pit. My kids wouldn’t say I’ve been in a pit. I am so happy at times. And really enjoy life at times. But “at times” was never a part of how I typically lived. It just <i>was. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jon recently asked me what it looks like to “cast my cares” on Jesus. He asked me how I would get to experiencing God’s “light burden.” I love my husband for this. Because for the few weeks that it took me to get to this place, he just loved me. He sat in the pit with me. He even said it was his <b>joy </b>to journey with me in this. But once I knew the “what,” he waited a few days, and then encouraged me to explore the “how.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here’s where I’m at on my discovery of “how”:</span></span><br />
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<li style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>Say it out loud.</b> When we speak light into the darkness, the darkness loses its power. From the moment I blurted out “My burden is heavy,” my burden felt lighter. Verbalizing things make them feel not so giant sized. In fact, the more I talked, the smaller it seemed. Did they go away? No. But it helped with perspective. And to speak it out loud to people who love you and love Jesus? All of a sudden I had people who were speaking truth to me, reminding me of who I am and who God is. Which leads me to…</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>Remember who God is.</b> Sometimes I forget how big God is. Sometimes I forget how faithful He has been. One walk down Memory Lane with Him, and my fears and doubts seem to fade away, in light of who He is. He is SOVEREIGN. Dangit. If only I could remember to live in that truth.</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>Gratitude.</b> Gratitude is such a beautiful remedy for so many struggles. Jealousy. Pride. Greed. I can look at the things in my house as evidences of God’s miraculous provision. Or I can look at the things in my house as a pile of stuff that I didn’t get to pick out. (aka I didn’t have control over. Ouch. Control. Issues.) My house is still my house. The items in it don’t change. The only thing that can change is how I look at it.</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>Confession. </b> I hadn’t confessed my fears and doubt to God. I had prayed over my HOPES. But I hadn’t confessed my JUNK. I hadn’t handed them over to Him to take and deal with. I needed to name them, confess them and release them. Confessing them to trusted friends was also a beautiful (and biblical) experience. So much freedom in confessing in community. Again, bringing dark things to light = healing. </span></span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am still learning what it looks like to “cast my cares” and experience God’s “light burden.” I will write more as I learn more. And if you are an experienced “caster of cares,” what does that look like in your life? </span></span><br />
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deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-82766724162551751032015-03-12T11:25:00.003-07:002015-03-12T11:29:03.347-07:00A Homeless Couple Asked my Husband for Money...I was so inspired last night by my husband, as we sat at the dinner table and went around one by one, sharing about our day. Jon shared that he was approached at work by a man and his girlfriend who are homeless - living in their car. <br />
They asked for money for gas and food. <br />
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I assumed Jon would give them money for those things, because we try to live very open handed. Meaning, we don't judge the person or try to guess what they'll actually do with the money. We believe that giving has a lot more to do with our own heart of generosity, and less to do with making sure the person we give to is a good steward of the money. It's our job to be generous. Living this way has helped us to have such freedom in our giving. It's a quick heart check. Does my money own me? Or am I blessed to be a blessing? <br />
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We've been on the receiving end of this type of generosity as well - Where someone has given us money and we responded saying, "Wow, we will do _____ with it..." and the person interrupted us and said, "You do with it what you need to. I don't need to know about it. <b>This isn't my money. It's God's money given to you through me.</b>" Wow. Jon and I then felt accountable to <b>God</b> for our use of the money. Not to the person. It's such a more free way to live for all parties involved.<br />
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So yesterday, when approached by the homeless couple, Jon shared that he didn't just give them money. He asked them out to lunch. Yes, he filled up their gas tank and yes, he filled their bellies, but more than that, <b>he joined them at the table.</b> He sat with them and ate with them and asked about their stories. He got to know THEM. Not just their need. THEM. <br />
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I listened to him talk about this couple, with a heart of love and compassion. <br />
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1 Corinthians 13:3 says, "If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my own body, I could boast about it; but if I did not love others, I would have gained nothing." <br />
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Thank you, Jon, for giving me a glimpse of what it looks like to live this out.deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-90131549311030249162015-03-09T13:17:00.000-07:002015-03-09T13:22:30.999-07:00The Day I Stopped Caring If My Son Was Cool...When my first born, Jackson, went to kindergarten, something birthed inside of me... This desire for him to make lots of friends and be well liked by his teacher and peers. I don't know why I cared that much or gave it much thought. Jackson was an easy going kid - super chill and laid back. He played well with other kids and had a lot of friends in his care-free pre-school years. But having just moved to a new city, we didn't know any kids that first day of school. I remember during his Kindergarten year, spying on him on the playground at lunch and recess. Not often, but still. Did he have friends? Did he get picked first or last for soccer teams at recess? Was he well liked? Sometimes I saw him playing an intense game of soccer with a big group of friends. Other times he waited in line for a good old game of 4 Square. And other times he sat on a bench and talked with a new kindergarten buddy who had a broken arm and couldn't play, just so his buddy wouldn't feel lonely while everyone else played. Jackson had always just been a good kid. Like I said, very easy going and chill. <br />
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However, I quickly discovered that his way of doing school was very different than MY way of doing school. As Jackson went into 1st and 2nd and 3rd grade, it became very clear that Jackson loved to do what he loved to do. One day it was tether ball. One day it was hand ball. Another day it was basketball. And maybe the next it was soccer. Whatever he felt like playing that day, he did. It wasn't determined by WHO was doing those things. It was just about what sounded like fun to him on that day. This blew my narrow mind and sent me into a tailspin. "Um, but what about your friends? Why don't you hang out with your friends and do what they're doing?" I would ask, perplexed. "Well, sometimes I do. But sometimes they want to play basketball and I really feel like playing tether ball." "Tether ball? Is that even cool?" I would think to myself. When I was in grade school, I hung out with my friends. I didn't care what I was doing, as long as it was with my friends. Here was my son, doing what he thought sounded fun, regardless of what his friends were doing. How was I going to get him to change his crazy, care-free ways?!? ;) <br />
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I remember when Jackson was in Kindergarten, a mom from another class who I didn't know that well, made a comment in passing about another mom at school who was super nice, but her son was "a total nerd." Wait, did she just label a 5 year old a nerd? Wow. My heart broke for the boy and for the uphill battle I knew would be his, if he was already labeled by a peer's mom in Kinder. My heart also wondered what was said about my boy? Was he liked and accepted? And so the after-school questions continued. "How was your day, honey? What did you play at recess? With who? Why didn't you play ____?" Pressure. Expectations. Pressure. <br />
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At age 4, Jackson started soccer. At 5 he started baseball. At 6 he started basketball. At 8 he started flag football. And at 9 he tried out for a musical and got a leading role. (The Donkey in Shrek) His role was hilarious. He was funny and witty and clearly had talent. It was SO fun to see him branch out into the area of musical theater. While he had fun playing sports, and continued with baseball and flag football, he also continued on to audition for another show. He LOVED it ALL! It was a blast to see him thriving in his talents. <br />
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And then it happened. One day Jackson came home from school and told me that a friend of his had told him that he really shouldn't be trying out for a musical because it wasn't "cool." In fact, he told Jackson it was "lame." Jackson wasn't hurt or upset at all. He was actually perplexed. "Mom," he said, "He's never even been in a musical. He doesn't know if it's lame. It's actually one of the most fun things I've ever done!" Jackson wasn't upset. He just thought his friend was wrong. :) And the friend actually didn't say it to be mean. He didn't have a rude tone and honestly wasn't making fun of Jackson. He was really just trying to help his buddy out. "Stay away from what's not cool." Except that's not Jackson. Jackson stays away from what he's not interested in. :) What's cool? Jackson could care less. He wants to be happy. And doing things where he has gifts and talents and that's fun? That makes him happy. <br />
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In that moment, the moment where he was told not to do something because it wasn't cool, I felt an overwhelming sense of release. A release of the pressure and the expectations and the mom-fear. My son is really dang good at singing and acting. And if that's not "cool," then for the first time in my mom-life, I did not care. Truly. I had a choice. I could tell my son to stifle his obvious talent and passion. Or I could release him to be free to be him. No pressure to be anything less than that or different than that. "Jackson, everyone has different skills. Everyone has different talents and abilities. Everyone has different things that they love doing, and makes them feel alive. The best thing each person can do is to discover what those things are and do them. You enjoy baseball and football. So you do it and you love it. You are really good at acting. So you do it and you love it. Someone else might be really good at sports. Or really good at playing piano. Or at building things. Or drawing. There is no 'right' or 'wrong.' There is just being you. That's the best thing everyone can do. Be themselves. No apologies. No pretending to be someone else. Be you. And be happy." Boom. Release. HE has always lived in that. But me? It took me a few years to figure that out in regards to him. So embarrassing.<br />
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Since that day, I no longer ask Jackson loaded questions about what he does at recess. I still ask him - but I do it because I'm interested. Not because I want to pressure him toward something else or gauge how I think he's doing socially. I gauge how he's doing based on HIS happiness. HIS demeanor. HIS perspective, not mine. (DUH!) <br />
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Jackson is happy. Really happy. Whether he's playing hand ball or basketball. Whether he's playing baseball or The Genie in Aladdin. Whether he's playing those things with his best friends or with a group of people he doesn't know. He is happy. And there is such freedom in me knowing that his happiness is "enough." deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996166442646611418.post-1250403342464917912015-03-03T13:03:00.001-08:002015-03-03T14:09:09.145-08:00For the Mamas who have Miscarried and the People Surrounding Them... Today is my due date. March 3rd. Well, 11 years ago today, it was. Today was the day I was due to deliver Jon and my very first child. We had been so excited to start our growing family. When we found out we were expecting, the first thing we did was go out and buy a minivan. Ha! To say we were thrilled would be an understatement. :)<br />
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I'll never forget the doctor's appointment we had as I was about to begin my second trimester. We watched in awe as the doctor showed us the tiny life on the screen. Jon was taking pictures of me in my paper gown, as we were getting printout pictures of our newest family member! And then he said it. The doctor's words knocked the air right out of my lungs. "I'm so sorry, but the baby isn't looking and growing like it should." I couldn't breathe. The room started spinning. He sent us home to "wait and see" and come back for more tests the following Monday. The elevator ride down to the parking lot was silent. Jon just stood next to me and squeezed my hand. I blinked hard and fast, but the tears streamed down anyway. Those tears. Once they came that day, they were either there or close by for the next several weeks and months that followed. The following Monday we found out the baby had stopped growing. Its heart had stopped beating.<br />
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I remember my husband wanting so badly to help, but didn't know exactly how. I remember my friends trying to support me, but not knowing what to do. I remember struggling with my own feelings of grief. Was I allowed to be sad over losing a baby at 12 weeks? That's nothing compared to the loss others have experienced. <br />
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As March 3rd's have come and gone, I have reflected and remembered. I have since walked this journey alongside friends and family who have had similar losses. And so today, I write this in hopes that it might be helpful to anyone in a similar spot - or who knows someone who is. <br />
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To the Mommies, the Daddies, and the friends who surround them:<br />
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<b>*Give grace.</b> To yourself and to others. Miscarrying is painful and everyone walks through pain differently. Give yourself and others the grace to walk it loudly, quietly, sadly, angrily and even clumsily. <br />
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<b>*Give yourself permission to grieve. </b>Whether you were pregnant for 5 months or 5 hours, allow yourself to grieve. There are ABSOLUTELY different degrees of pain and loss when you carry a child for 5 months verses 5 hours. But your pain is no less REAL. When you see that "positive test," you start to dream. Of what will be, what could be, what you hope to be. Even a short pregnancy comes with its dreams. Give yourself permission to grieve the loss of all you had hoped for that life. <br />
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<b>*Use your pain to feel compassion, not comparison. </b>I will never forget when my cousin shared with my mom and I the details of her loss. She lost her full term baby girl. I cannot even begin to imagine how a loss like that would feel. My mom, trying to relate, said, "I'm so sorry for your loss. You know, Deanna lost her baby too." I wanted to crawl into a hole. There is no way for me to try to compare my cousin's loss to my loss. Yes, my pain was real and it turned my world upside down. But I have such compassion for a loss of that magnitude. I never want to take away from someone's loss by comparing it to mine. Just as I don't want to take away from my own loss by comparing it to someone else's. I just want to use my pain to feel compassion. To weep with those who weep. To mourn with those who mourn. <br />
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<b>*Give grace.</b> Yes, this point again. Give grace to that person who just said they know exactly how you feel because they lost their pet goldfish when they were 8, so they can imagine what it felt like to find out your baby's heart stopped beating. People want to relate. They want to help. Offer grace when they do it clumsily.<br />
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<b>*Don't try to fix it. </b> Spouses and friends and family want so badly to take the pain away. So sometimes they say helpful things. Other times they say things that hurt. "I'm sure you'll get pregnant again." "Well at least you already have 2 kids." "You should be thankful for all the other great things in your life." And on and on they say "encouraging" things. Except they aren't encouraging. They perpetuate this pressure to be better faster. Hurry up and heal. Even if the statement is true, it doesn't mean it's beneficial in the moment.<br />
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<b>*Give grace. </b> Yup. Again. Give grace to your spouse that is trying to help and heal and fix. Women have this beautiful privilege of feeling a life growing inside of our bodies. We feel nauseous and tired and swollen and tiny kicks and hiccups. Your spouse doesn't have the benefit of those feelings, so doesn't always understand the degree of emotional connection a mama has with her unborn baby - no matter how far along. <br />
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<b>*Surround yourself with healthy people who love you.</b> The best kind of person is the one who gets in the pit with you and grieves with you....but also loves you too much to let you stay there. Let people love on you by bringing meals. (hint: if you are a friend of someone who has lost a baby, bring food.) :) Let people cry with you and meet your needs. But let them also get you out of the house. Let them take you out. Let them remind you of beauty and Truth and that healing is possible. These friends, if they have a healthy perspective on life, will know how to love you in both of those ways and at the appropriate times. <br />
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<b>*Give grace.</b> You knew it was coming again. ;) Grace. But I'm not talking to the mamas right now. I'm talking to the spouse and friends. You grieved with. You showed up. And now you're trying to help that person out of the pit. But they're not ready. They have found their pit to be quite cozy and warm. Heck, they may have even hung pictures in that place and called it home. Don't give up. Give grace. And try again. This time, maybe gentler. We will come around. We want to. Deep down we do. We just need someone to be patient with us and love us enough to journey with us - even if it's at a slow crawl's pace. <br />
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<b>*If you get pregnant again, celebrate.</b> This one might sound crazy, but honestly, it was the biggest gift my husband gave me. After the loss of our first pregnancy, the next time we found out we were expecting, I was very hesitant to celebrate. I was hesitant even to believe that I truly was pregnant. I knew the test had read "Positive," but every day after that, I second guessed if the baby's heart was still beating, if the baby was growing, etc.. One day, my husband sat me down and said, "You know what? You are right. We don't know how this pregnancy will end. We don't know what tomorrow will hold. But what we do know is that TODAY you are pregnant! You are pregnant RIGHT NOW. So we are going to celebrate the "right now." We are going to be excited about today! Because today there is a baby growing inside of you. That is truth. That is real. We'll face a different reality if that comes, but today? Our reality is YOU are PREGNANT." And you know what? He was right. I was pregnant. And I remained pregnant until at 9 months I delivered a 9 pound 12 ounce baby boy. I could have spent those 9 months filled with worry and anxiety or I could have spent it celebrating each day that life grew inside of me. I'm so thankful I chose the later and had a trusted, loving voice to point me to a better way to move forward.<br />
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<b>*If you don't get pregnant and someone else does, celebrate. </b> This might sound crazier than the point above. But I'm going to take a moment to use some "tough love" on this one. While we are grieving our loss, as much as we hate to acknowledge it sometimes, the world around us continues on. People get pregnant and grow their own families. You know pregnancy is beautiful and miraculous, but when someone else gets pregnant after you've experienced loss, you don't always view it as beautiful and miraculous. You view it as mean and cruel. But the reality is, someone else's pregnancy has nothing to do with yours. Celebrate with them. Don't make them ashamed of the miracle growing in their womb. They can't suck it in. Or hide it from you. At least not forever. And although sometimes seeing a pregnant woman was a reminder of my loss, the beauty of hearing a healthy heartbeat and seeing a sonogram of a growing baby is absolutely something to be celebrated! <br />
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<b>Bottom line: Don't do life alone.</b> Life is better together. Celebrations are better with people. And grieving is better when not done alone. Let people in. Although it is popular to wait until the 2nd trimester to tell people you're expecting, I am so thankful people knew about our pregnancy earlier than that. So that when we did experience the loss, we had a huge support system that was aware and there for us. And when our next pregnancy came, we had huge prayer support for a healthy baby and pregnancy. People want to journey with you. Let them. And when it comes time to journey with someone else? Be the first in line because you know the beauty of community. <br />
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I wish this world knew no loss or pain or death. But unfortunately that's not the case. "March 3rd's" happen for someone, somewhere, each and every day. And so we link arms and put one foot in front of the other...day after day after day. Giving grace upon grace and knowing that we are better together. Loving, learning, offering compassion, and being a safe place to heal. <br />
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Thank you for being that to me, on this, my first baby's due date. deanna ramsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01464109784952913152noreply@blogger.com3