<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837</id><updated>2011-07-31T02:07:35.804-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Inspired Life Art</title><subtitle type='html'>Thoughts on taking an average LIFE, living it INSPIRED by God and turning it into ART by loving more sincerely, living more naturally and making more creatively.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-3678035505432089843</id><published>2011-06-24T16:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-24T16:29:09.928-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I Do What I Do</title><content type='html'>For some crazy reason, I love teenagers. I love them in a way many parents don't! I love to hang out with them, hear about their lives, meet their friends, know about their families. They are in an incredibly unique stage in life, walking the fine line between childhood and adulthood while they maneuver their schools, balance their social schedules and define themselves. Thankfully, I'm priviledged to be on the front lines to witness that development not only in the lives of my own kids and their immediate friends, but to almost 100 others in my youth group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The generation we're raising up right now is often referred to as the "Entitlement Generation," and while teens are generally perceived to be selfish, covetous people, many of the ones I know are quite the opposite. I've seen kids start prayer groups on their public junior high campuses, donate their own money and raise funds for orphanages, fund-raise for friend's camps and give up literally hours each week to serve by scrubbing toilets, stuffing Easter eggs and stacking chairs. Many times I've been dumbfounded by their actions. For kids that the public thinks are frivilous, immoral and disrespectful, they are loving more boldly than I see a lot of my own generation doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hang out with teenagers because it's fun. I do it because it brings me joy; because God has called me to it; because I have the rare opportunity to speak into young people's lives and they listen. They make me laugh. They make me want to love Jesus more. They make me a better parent. They allow me to gain insight on what it means to be a woman, a Christian and a mom. I do it because it gives me the opportunity to know their parents. They let me encourage them, hug them, be silly with them and love them. I hang out with teenagers because I can't imagine not doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have the opportunity to travel 2500 miles in a few weeks with about 75 young people to Colorado to attend the Desperation Conference at New Life Church in Colorado Springs. Stacee and I went last year and it changed our lives. That may sound trite and cliche, but it's true. For those of you believers reading this, you can't argue with spending more time with Jesus, practicing Biblical disciplines (like fasting and meditation) or spending more time in prayer than either of us ever had been in the habit of doing. We're both really excited that AJ will go with us this year. I've seen God honor prayers that Stacee and I prayed last summer. Our family has benefitted greatly from our time there last year and we're waiting excitedly to see what God does through our experience this year. The trip is costing us about $1000 (plus a few meals on the road and other necessities - a tent, snacks &amp;amp; 3 air mattresses) and while we've fund-raised and received donations for the bulk of it, we're still needing some more. If you're reading this and so led, please consider supporting us. Checks to East Valley Church are tax-deductible, but please send them to me so I can make sure it goes to support us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm honored to love on these students. I'm so greatful that God created us so uniquely so not everyone wants to lead worship or feed the hungry or be a foster parent. I love doing what I do. I'm constantly surprised that they not only allow me to be a youth leader, but the kids want me there. How blessed am I?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-3678035505432089843?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/3678035505432089843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=3678035505432089843' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3678035505432089843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3678035505432089843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2011/06/why-i-do-what-i-do.html' title='Why I Do What I Do'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-6558057312956223262</id><published>2010-09-10T08:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-10T09:31:27.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Coffee, but Great Friends</title><content type='html'>Well, I succeeded in my clothing fast last month. Well, almost... I made it through August 29, but wasn't organized enough to get my laundry done and caved the last two days. Not bad, though, I think. It became a much more spiritual experience than I anticipated. I was constantly aware, through the entire month, of people who have much less than I do. I certainly found myself being very greatful for the wardrobe I do have. Like I've said before, I'm pretty low-maintenance and low-budget when I comes to my attire. However, there were so many days previous to August when I would look at my closet and say, "Ugh! I hate all my clothes!," or "I have nothing to wear. I need to go shopping!" That point of view has certainly changed. On September 1, when I got dressed I found myself actually overwhelmed by choices. I wanted to wear things that had been hanging untouched for months. The end result is that I'm ready to do a major purge and own a lot less. I've heard before that we wear about 20% of our wardrobe 80% of the time. That seems like a waste to me, so I'm going to attempt to pare it down to what is actually needed, with a few bonus items for special occassions. I'll keep you posted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This month, no coffee. I'm not cutting out caffeine, just coffee. I'm not brave enough to deal with the headaches every afternoon if I go without caffeine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, onto the Great Friends part! I spent yesterday morning (a gorgeous day, by the way) at the park with two amazing women whom I used to work with at First Covenant. We had a blast! They both have 3 year olds and babies. It was beyond delightful to spend a morning visiting, laughing, basking in the sun and catching up on each other's lives. I felt so blessed just being with them. Jaime lives in Folsom, but our friend, Daniella lives in Virginia (on her way to Hawaii in a few months; poor lady...) and was out here visiting family. They are both good mommies. Good mommies in the way I'm pretty sure I never was. The way they interacted, entertained and carried on conversations simultaneously wowed me. They didn't lose their patience or their cool ever. Although I'm very thankful that I'm past the baby/toddler/pre-school phase in my life, I found myself thinking that if I had to do it again, I would be able to pull it off now. I'd just ask them how they do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the devil is in the details, then grace must abound there, too. I feel sometimes like I was never patient enough with my kids when they were little. Maybe it's my personality, maybe it's because I started my family so young, or maybe it's because I really wasn't ever patient. I know I raised my voice too much, didn't read enough stories, didn't built enough lego castles or dress enough Barbies with them. I fed them McDonald's too much, dumped them off with grandparents too often and cried over my constant feeling of failure. Thankfully, there's four of them, so they helped each other out - and me. I told my sister-in-law, Heather not too long ago that God protected me and the kids when they were little. For the first decade I was a parent, I think I was in a daze. Sometimes I worked, sometimes I didn't. There was always stress trying to make ends meet and keep our marriage together. It felt like trudging through mud constantly. Wake up and go, go, go, but always feel like it wasn't good enough or fast enough. I took my first deep breath followed by a big sigh and realaxed for the first time when Colin started first grade. For the first time in over ten years, I could actually be by myself and figure out what Joy looked like, apart from the offspring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grace has carried me into the teenage years. It must have. My kids are amazing young people with fabulous, fun personalities. Of course they all have their short-comings (which, of course, I feel like are all my fault...), but they're happy, well-adjusted, affectionate, silly young people.&lt;br /&gt;There are few things in life I enjoy more than watching them grow and mature. When they love each other sincerely and play together, I smile everytime I get to see it. There are still things that I do wrong (I'll blog a list pretty soon), but I think God's got my back. He has so far.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-6558057312956223262?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/6558057312956223262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=6558057312956223262' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/6558057312956223262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/6558057312956223262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2010/09/no-coffee-but-great-friends.html' title='No Coffee, but Great Friends'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-3709989000197145784</id><published>2010-08-18T10:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T10:27:34.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 18</title><content type='html'>Well, I've been at this for over two weeks and overall, it's going quite well.  I'm feeling pretty good about finishing out the month without losing my mind or being irritated at my lack of choices. I think the creativity is the most fun part. Turning a scarf into a blouse and accessorizing a plain sundress so it's appropriate for a wedding has been a challenge, but one I'm happy to say I've risen to. It's funny to do laundry and see my stack be so small compared to everyone else's. Usually I spend all day, every Monday doing all the laundry (except for A.J. and Stacee's), but I can't always last a week on my meager wardrobe, so I've had to do some extra. That's been the hardest part. The other challenge has been not wearing the same thing to church every Sunday and Wednesday that I wore the previous week. I think I sound vain assuming that everyone notices what I wear and maybe vanity is a good enough reason to challenge myself this way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whittling down my wardrobe to only a handful of pieces has definitely made me much more grateful for the other pieces in my closet. I caught myself wistfully feeling one of my favorite blouses the other day, being tempted by its color and texture - so different than anything I've worn this month. It's easy for me to do this, knowing that it's only for a month. I keep thinking, though, about all the kids who are wearing shoes two sizes too small and homeless teens washing their clothes in park bathrooms. I keep thinking that there must be something that can be done, beyond raising awareness or being disciplined for a small portion of the year. I know there are clothes closets at non-profits and churches all over the city and thrift stores, which I know from experience keep low-income families clothed on a tight budget. Here's my question, though: if there are still kids, teens and adults without those resources, are we doing a good enough job? The same could be asked about food. Are we, as Americans who waste hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of goods and food PER PERSON each year, doing enough for the society we live in?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I'm not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-3709989000197145784?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/3709989000197145784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=3709989000197145784' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3709989000197145784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3709989000197145784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2010/08/day-18.html' title='Day 18'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-5381312231400072830</id><published>2010-08-04T10:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-04T11:55:07.768-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Ten Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wlJaM7vu0aQ/TFmsITQcg-I/AAAAAAAAABM/cb1O0Naq7xY/s1600/DSCN3944[1]"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501617678417953762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wlJaM7vu0aQ/TFmsITQcg-I/AAAAAAAAABM/cb1O0Naq7xY/s320/DSCN3944%5B1%5D" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The average American throws away roughly 68 pounds of textiles each year, the majority of this ending up in landfills. I was shocked by this statistic. As someone who takes a small amount of pride in my appearance, I am pretty low-maintenance when it comes to my wardrobe itself. I don't spend much on my clothing. In fact, most of the things I wear are either hand-me-downs or come from thrift stores. For the last several years I've had a $10 rule: any clothes I buy have to be less than $10. Still, I was appalled that we, as Americans, throw so much usable stuff away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Recently, I watched a short news story on a woman who wore only 6 items of clothing for an entire month. She was a career woman, a reporter. She blogged about it and others participated in the experiment with her. It really intrigued me, so I decided to try it as well. I didn't think I could handle only 6 articles, so I upped it to 10: 2 sundresses, 2 skirts, 2 pairs of shorts, 3 shirts and a pair of jeans. That's what I'll wear for a month. I'm not too worried about pulling it off and I'm already enjoying the creativity of pulling in different shoes and accessories so I don't feel like I'm wearing the same thing everyday. I think it will be fun to be challenged in this way. The hardest part will be things that are out of the ordinary this month: a weekend away with friends and a wedding I'm coordinating. We'll see how that goes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As much as I love the challenge, and it has certainly made me more aware of being wasteful, there's a bigger reason for me to do this. I like the lessons it enables me to teach our kids. I like that I've been able to have conversations about what what we actually need and how it differs from what we want. I enjoy being an example of living a little more simply, and being aware of how much the rest of the world doesn't have by comparison to our country. I'm not trying to punish myself for living here, I just think that living here gives us a responsiblity to not be blind to how people live beyond our borders. I like that I'm able to be thankful that I can choose only 10 items, instead of being limited to them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-5381312231400072830?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/5381312231400072830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=5381312231400072830' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5381312231400072830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5381312231400072830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-ten-things.html' title='My Ten Things'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_wlJaM7vu0aQ/TFmsITQcg-I/AAAAAAAAABM/cb1O0Naq7xY/s72-c/DSCN3944%5B1%5D' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-3722061816756168442</id><published>2010-03-31T11:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T11:42:56.400-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I Believe...</title><content type='html'>I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I believe about life, faith, God and family lately. I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm trying to line up how I feel about certain things with what I've been taught. I've found they're not always the same. Maybe I'm trying to figure out how to raise my kids well in a culture that doesn't always support the same things Kris and I do. Maybe it's just because I have more time to think than I used to. In any event, here's the start:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;that most anything can be fixed with zip ties, a hot glue gun or gaffer's tape.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that what we put into our bodies as nourishment effects far more than our waistline.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that I have a responsibility to my family, my God and the earth not to be wasteful with my money, time or resources.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that choosing to love two more kids and welcoming them into my home is first about my obedience to God, and second about my love for them.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that I've lived out my faith better outside the church walls than I did inside them.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that kids don't need to go to pre-school. They need parents who are engaged.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that health care should be accessible to everyone; that it isn't a right protected under the Constitution; that it shouldn't be mandated by the government.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that homosexuality is not a salvation issue.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that, as a Christian, I'm supposed to love people. Period.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that most Americans could live very comfortably on a portion of what they currently do.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that cable, internet, cell phones and new cars are not necessities.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that music is beautiful.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that Kris is the perfect fit for my broken, silly, passionate self.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that I am honored to raise these kids, more than I could ever begin to express with words.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;that I would be a happier mommy if I could walk around with a cocktail in my hand all the time.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;That's it for now.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-3722061816756168442?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/3722061816756168442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=3722061816756168442' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3722061816756168442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3722061816756168442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2010/03/what-i-believe.html' title='What I Believe...'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-8144335944146456394</id><published>2010-01-08T12:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-08T13:18:56.855-08:00</updated><title type='text'>LBD</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, I wore a black dress with tights and heels. It was by no means an evening gown (that would have been absurd), but it's made of a fabric that covers up flaws and hangs nicely on me. It has pleats down the front and ties at the waist to show that I have one. Nevermind that there are unflattering rolls above and below it. I had my make-up done prettily (smoky eyes, glossy lips), my conditioned and (newly grayless) black hair pulled back with a shiny clip. For a splash of color,  my new brick red Harvey's handbag was slung gracefully over my shoulder, (this, a present from Kris for Christmas and the most expensive purse I've ever owned) and a black and white checkered retro-style jacket over my dress while I ran errands. I looked sharp and I felt attractive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't usually go around feeling ugly. I take a little time with my appearance every morning and don't leave the house in sweats and slippers. I always have my hair nicely styled, though I'm aware that it's hard to screw up one length straight hair and bangs. I do my make-up everyday. I'm by no means high-maintenance when it comes to what I look like, but it's important to me that I look finished when I walk out the door. It has very little to do with what people think of me or expect from me. It has a lot more to do with taking care of myself and feeling ready to face the world around me everyday. I'm more prepared to deal with flat tires, car pools, long lines and too many errands if my clothes match, my eyelashes are visible and I'm wearing jewelry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dressed up yesterday for really hardly any reason at all. I mean, really, how many days in a row can one wear jeans and still feel feminine? Sometimes I miss working. Well, not so much the working part, the needing-to-look-somewhat-nicer-than-a-stay-at-home-mom part. I love to feel pretty. If I could wear a dress or skirt and tank top everyday of the year with little strappy, heeled sandals, I would. It really is when I feel the most attractive. I can't though, which is why yesterday I put on my new, black dress and picked up kids from school, went to Old Navy and bought toilet paper with sore feet and a sexy strut. It was time to feel cute, like I had more exciting things to do than drive around in my old minivan with its funny noises. I enjoyed myself all afternoon yesterday. I think I'll do it again soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-8144335944146456394?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/8144335944146456394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=8144335944146456394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/8144335944146456394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/8144335944146456394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2010/01/lbd.html' title='LBD'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-7979499795399335351</id><published>2009-03-24T13:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T14:02:49.380-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You Can Teach An Old Dog New Tricks!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Actually, I'm not that old. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I've spent a lot of my time recently planning  a mission's trip for middle schoolers. This is not really an area I feel gifted in. I've never planned an event like this and I have no contacts in LA. I haven't even been on a mission trip since I was in high school. God has made a huge effort (well, actually, he's God, so maybe it's not that much of an effort?) to push me out of where I think I fit this last year. Intellectually and spiritually, I've been picked up, shaken around and placed back down OUTSIDE of my comfort zone. I realize that I'm not being sent to Africa, I'm not trying to get through college and I'm not fighting or watching someone I love fight a terrible disease. However, I have been challenged more in my love for Jesus and my desire to know him better more in this past year than ever before. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I've decided to blame a few people around me, who shall remain nameless...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;My brother (okay, his relation to me gives away his identity). He went through seminary and would ask me to proof some of his papers, then ask me questions about them. Also, many times when he learned something new about the Bible or Jesus, he would tell me, thus me learning something new. I'm impressed that I got all the highlights of a seminary education without the student loans. If I were him, I wouldn't have shared on lick of knowlege!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A friend whom I met through church. She is such an encourager, prayer warrior and Jesus-follower. She has the biggest heart for Jesus and I am envious of the time she spends with him. She has prayed for me and pushed me to find all my solace in my Savior's love for me and this has impacted my marriage enormously.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A friend with whom I've done ministry. He is a question-asker. He doesn't always need the answers, but he always asks them. He has inspired me to use the non-mommy part of my brain and think critically about the culture around me. I've have learned so much from him about what it means to follow Jesus and love the people I come in contact with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;My married friends. This last year they decided to leave the church. If anything, they're committed to following Jesus more and not less, and do this in being active in their community and loving on people living in a marginal society. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I guess I took for granted the learning curve in adulthood. I've been wrapped up in being a wife, a mommy, a secretary and forgot that I need to keep stretching myself. It's been really awesome to experience all this, though it's not always comfortable. I find myself talking to God more, learning about him more, enjoying my relationship with him more. I've found, too, that the more I think I know, the less I know. There's always a new facet of his personality to discover, another revelation in his word. I'm so thankful we worship a God who lets up keep learning. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-7979499795399335351?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/7979499795399335351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=7979499795399335351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/7979499795399335351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/7979499795399335351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2009/03/you-can-teach-old-dog-new-tricks.html' title='You Can Teach An Old Dog New Tricks!'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-4981099204394051647</id><published>2009-03-06T11:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T11:37:47.484-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love It When...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My brother posted a list on his blog and I thought it was such a good idea, that I'd copy him. After all, imitation is the best form of flattery. I know I've been absent (as if I had thousands of loyal readers following me...), but I'm back now. It's been a difficult few months as we continue to adjust to me being home and the restrictions that come with it. However, it's still worth it. Enough of that melencholy, here's my list:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I love it when...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;my kids sit together without arguing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;my husband surprises me with his generosity for my students.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I get to hang out with my Mom just for fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;when I get to REALLY use my brain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I have fabulous conversations with friends that leave me with more questions than I started with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;my students call me "Mom" or "Auntie Joy."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Colin cuddles with me in the morning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Kris thinks I'm hot and we've been together for like, ever!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;we have family dinners with my brother and his family and my mom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Kris and I get to hang out at home without our kids.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;my kids grasp a really abstract concept.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I hear Stacee singing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A.J. takes time to play baseball with his brothers without me asking him to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I see Colin reading because he enjoys it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Brennan shows me what an amazing kid he actually is by treating people with kindness and generosity. (Shhh, I assured him I wouldn't share that with anyone!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I get to spend Tuesday nights with a bunch of kids, just because I love them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;my kids hug their dad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Kris looks at me across the room and I know what he's thinking without him saying anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;it's sunny outside and the house is quiet and clean.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;my kids tell me what they learned at church.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I get to make new friends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I get to spend time with my old friends.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I think that's it for now. My battery is running low and the boys are almost out of school. I'll be posting more regularly now. I think I've got lots to share ;-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-4981099204394051647?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/4981099204394051647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=4981099204394051647' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/4981099204394051647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/4981099204394051647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-love-it-when.html' title='I Love It When...'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-8164442327244310151</id><published>2008-08-18T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T10:21:39.259-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And so it begins... again.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Today is the first day of school. Actually, it's a day full of firsts. A.J. started high school, Stacee started junior high (more on this is a moment) and Colin started first grade. Which all culminates into a fantabulous milestone for me:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:180%;"&gt;ALL FOUR KIDS ARE IN SCHOOL ALL DAY!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Yes, that's correct. If I so choose, I can actually be alone in my home with silence from 9 am to 2:30 pm. That's potentially 5 and a half hours of just me. In case you're wondering why this warrants a blog entry, the last time I was alone was in the 90s. I'm sure you can see why I'm so excited. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Not that my days will be empty. Kris and I made the agreement that if I got to quit my job and stay home, I'd have days full of mopping, organizing, cleaning, dusting, etc. But let's face it, my house can only get so clean, right? Truth be told, I'm really looking forward to finishing projects and starting new ones. I like it when dinner's done when Kris walks in the door. It's a very peaceful feeling when I get up in the morning and the kitchen is clean, or when I have time to clean the toilets before the ring is visible. These are things that make me smile. If I get to do them alone and in the quiet, more power to me!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;So, A.J. started high school today. He chose zero period which starts at 6:55 am (yes, that was am!), which means he left the house on his bike about 6:20 this morning. Far too early for me, but his body clock is different than mine. I tried to convince him to let me drive him the first day, but he wasn't having it. It's strange for me to think of him in high school. He's the third generation to go through that school. My parents met there, my brother and I went there and now him. Not to mention several aunts, uncles and cousins, as well. I'm glad that he doesn't have any teachers I had, although it really wasn't that long ago that I graduated. Sometimes it seems like I'm still about 19 in my head, but then I look up to A.J. (literally - he's 6"2' now) and realize that I am actually old enough (but barely!!!) to have a high schooler. It makes me teary to know that there's only a few more years he'll be living here under our roof. Such a limited amount of time to speak truth into his life and teach him all the things he needs to know before he's an adult. He's such an incredible young man, and it's only because he's such a good boy that Kris and I even have the ability to still impact his life. For so many parents that ship has already sailed. How fortunate we are with this gift.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;And Stacee started junior high. This has been the hardest thing for me about school starting this year. As far as her maturity level goes, she was so, so, so ready to move from elementary school to junior high. The concern lies in two areas: 1) Only 2 other kids that she knows from 6th grade are attending her school, and 2) She really has no time for drama, gossip and pettiness. I don't know where she got that, but it's truly a zero-tolerance personal policy with her. This is what makes me worry the most. She's perfectly capable of making friends and meeting new people. New situations tend to make her nervous, but she's able to talk herself through it. She's a fun, straight-forward young woman who knows right from wrong and isn't afraid to choose the right thing, even if she's the only one. I'm just afraid she's the only one, which will make junior high an incredibly lonely place. In a culture where your "tribe" counts for everything, I worry that she won't be able to find her own. It's such a precarious balance to strike between being yourself and finding approval for it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;School starting also means the beginning of all the activities that accompany it. This means that I'll spend way too much time driving/carpooling/picking-up/dropping-off than I want to. A.J., Stacee and Brennan will all be taking dance classes again, and participating in our church's Christmas production, "An Evening In December." A.J. will attend youth group once a week, as will Stacee and I. Brennan will want to, but he's not old enough and Colin is still perfectly happy at home. I wonder if he'll ever grow out of that. For the sake of my gas budget, I hope not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-8164442327244310151?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/8164442327244310151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=8164442327244310151' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/8164442327244310151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/8164442327244310151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/08/and-so-it-begins-again.html' title='And so it begins... again.'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-3912387609659445445</id><published>2008-08-06T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T13:31:42.516-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How are you today?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I was asked that question last night by someone who doesn't bother asking unless he wants to know the answer, so I knew I couldn't paste a smile on my face and flippantly say, "Fine." It was difficult to answer because I spent most of yesterday on the verge of tears. I'd love to ignore it and say it was hormonal, but it's wasn't - it was all real.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I've realized that along with the things I love about being home with my kids come things that I don't love about being home with my kids. I'm not talking about things l knew I would dislike: cleaning the house everyday, listening to squabbling or bored kids. I'm talking about things that never even occured to me. Things like not having my own cash and having to think through my own problems. I guess it never really occured to me that I'd really miss the girls from my office or how annoying the words, "Can I play on the Play Station?" could be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I know I'm doing the right thing by my kids. At the end of my life I didn't want to look back and know that I was an excellent secretary. I want to be able to look back and know that I raised 4 happy, healthy, well-adjusted people. It's just that this week, I'm finding it a little lonely and not a little tedious. I'm certainly not second-guessing my decision to be a full-time mommy; I'm just venting at the unexpected price I'm paying. I know myself well enough to know that I won't feel like this in a few days... thank God! It's just that I was asked the question last night and knew it was the right thing to answer it, so now it's on my mind.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;So, like my friend, I won't ask if I don't genuinely care. How are you today?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-3912387609659445445?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/3912387609659445445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=3912387609659445445' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3912387609659445445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3912387609659445445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/08/how-are-you-today.html' title='How are you today?'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-715527270625770443</id><published>2008-07-21T17:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T17:47:22.067-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Beautiful!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;First, let me tell you a few absolutely beautiful things I've come across this last month:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;1. I saw Charlotte's Web (the new one, not the 80s cartoon) with my youngest son, Colin. The beautiful part was having a morning with just him. Although I'm usually amazed with and at my kids, this particular morning was outstanding. He has such a sensitive heart, tempered evenly with silliness. What he does with the combination of the two during his lifetime will be exciting to see.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;2. My daughter, Stacee leads worship with the band at the middle school group every other week. Seeing her step outside her comfort zone to be vunerable with her talent in front of her peers makes me so, so, so very proud of her. I used think there was no greater sound than the belly-laugh of an infant. I've recently revised my opinion on that. There are few greater sounds anywhere in the world than the sound of your child raising their voice in song to the Maker they believe in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;3. Kris and I walked into the house last week to see all four of our kids sprawled out all over each other in order of their age (raising the bar, anyone?) on the same sofa. They weren't arguing or wrestling. They were showing their affection in a beautiful way: by just hangin' together. It brought tears to my eyes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Now, let me share with you my last week, which by the way was filled with beauty and art. I left last Sunday morning with 2 other adults and 18 middle schoolers to drive 9 hours to summer camp. I haven't attended a summer camp since 1991, so needless to say, I was slightly intimidated by the prospect. I'm lucky enough to know most of the kids as I've been part of the volunteer staff for the last several months, but I had absolutely no idea how I would do with 10 girls under my care 24/7 for 5 days. I knew what I didn't want to deal with: drama, gossip, whining, boy craziness, sleepless nights. Other than that, my expectations weren't very high. I went into it knowing I would need a little time each day by myself, so I woke up early every morning for a hot shower and some time with Jesus. I knew I'd need to feel connected to the other staff on the trip, so I made a point to get to know my co-counselor better (Yelena is an amazing woman, by the way!). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;One of my favorite times was when one of the girls was struggling in a specific area and I had the opportunity to see our pastor speak truth into her life about her worth and her identity and how much she is loved unconditionally by her Maker. He shared with her that God created her uniquely and that he knows she is beautiful. I wanted to tape his encouraging words to have them on file for when I need to hear them. Although this young woman's struggles won't end with that conversation, he gave her tools to use when she is feeling discouraged.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;We have two girls in our group who are phenomenal young women. They come from rather yucky backgrounds and reached our church through an outreach program to the community. Since they're both in my small group I've been able to get to know them and I've been honored to do so. They were amazing all week with their involvement in activities, their fun attitudes and their encouragement to the other girls. God has his hand on their lives and I'm anxious to see where he leads them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I shouldn't be surprised when God steps in to exceed my expectations, but I was this last week. The girls in my cabin astounded me with their gentle attitudes, encouraging words and their willingness to step outside of themselves to love on other kids. It was so very beautiful to see God softening their hearts toward difficult personalities and reaching out in tangible ways to help one another. One of my favorite things was that by the end of the week, I felt like we looked like a family. There was very little separation by gender while we ate our meals together or sat together during Chapel. The students all bonded with each other and I was emmensely proud of all of them. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I was so blessed to be a part of it and have been thanking God the last several days that he chose me to be with them all week. On top of all that, all our girls were asleep every night by 11:30. I'm not sure, but I'm fairly certain that's some kind of record!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-715527270625770443?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/715527270625770443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=715527270625770443' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/715527270625770443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/715527270625770443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/07/so-beautiful.html' title='So Beautiful!'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-5734749993054484610</id><published>2008-06-23T19:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T19:35:20.102-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finding Art &amp; Beauty</title><content type='html'>It wasn't so long ago that I discovered I had the potential to be an artist. Certainly not in the realm of Shakespeare or Monet or Michelangelo, or even modern artists like Spielberg or Webber. I can't string together a bunch of letters and words and make them into poetry, or take clay to sculpt a human form. I'm nowhere near brushing strokes onto blank canvas and invoking emotion from their color, or bringing something out in people they didn't realize they had. I do know, however, that I have something that they also possessed: desire and heart, passion and potential. I'm just not sure what to do with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But isn't that what art is? Taking something ordinary and turning it into something extraordinary? Is it possible to do that with a life? Can you begin with an average mom of 4 kids, a bad credit score and no college degree and spin it into something amazing? Can you have a broken dishwasher, unanswered emails, a cheap bottle of wine and make it beautiful?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which begs the question: what does beautiful look like? Is it a big house, a handsome husband, a career and a financial portfolio? Is it possible that there is beauty and creativity in the average? Those moments in which you take a deep breath and heave a heavy sigh of contentment - are those beautiful? I believe they are - or rather, they have the potential to be. I believe also that as children of The Creator, we're obligated to find it. He didn't call us to live average lives, but rather to have abundant lives. I know it's difficult when we're stuck in the middle of piled-up bills, stacked-up laundry and heaped-up baggage to fine the uniqueness that God created us with, but it's there. After all, He put it there for His glory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on a quest the find the beauty in the mundane and the creativity in the average. I'll let you know what I come across.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-5734749993054484610?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/5734749993054484610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=5734749993054484610' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5734749993054484610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5734749993054484610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/06/finding-art-beauty.html' title='Finding Art &amp; Beauty'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-3004417713746623977</id><published>2008-05-28T11:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T11:43:29.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>But First...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Luke 9:57-62&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;There have been many times in the last several years that I’ve put God off. Not intentionally, of course (yeah, right!). I’ve labeled it “discernment” or “waiting for God to move me.” I’ve put Him off for very good reasons: “But first I need to raise my kids…”, “But first I want to see Kris accept you as Savior…”, “But first I need to finish, or do, or see (insert task here)…” The fact is, though, that I was attempting to convince myself and God that I could just stay in my little bubble of life and not rely on His timing. I was so selfish to believe that nobody needed me outside my family, and I continually used them as an excuse to stay stuck. There’s not anything wrong with putting our families first; I believe God honors our time as wives and moms. I was serving them exclusively, however, all in the name of comfort and complacency.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently God has been changing my heart and quietly whispering in my ear. He’s placed people around me, shown me His Word and has been bringing my husband closer to Himself. All of these things have helped me find that He’s placed within me a real passion outside of my family. Much to my surprise, I’ve found that my heart aches for young women, whether they’re labeled at-risk or affluent. I want them to know the complete and unconditional love that their heavenly Father has for them, regardless of what their earthly fathers may look like. I desperately want to instill in them a sense of self-worth and pride so that they make life choices that reflect the confidence they have in the hope that only Jesus gives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this story in Luke, a man comes up to Jesus while He’s walking along the road on His way to Jerusalem. I can only assume he’s heard of this guy, Jesus before, because he comes up and says (something like), “Sure, Jesus, I’ll follow you. Sounds like fun!” The first thing Jesus does is challenge him. He and the other guys he was with immediately start to back peddle. I imagine they’re thinking, “Hey, wait a minute. This isn’t what I bargained for. On second, thought I think I’ll….ah…..oh, yeah, I’ve got some family stuff first.” After hearing their excuses, Jesus ends the conversation with, “No procrastination. No backward looks. You can’t put God’s kingdom off till tomorrow. Seize the day.” (The Message)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;God doesn’t want our excuses. He already knows we’re busy with life. He’s the one that gifted us with family, careers, social lives and responsibilities – all the things we, in turn, use as excuses to put off His divine purpose for our lives. It’s challenging to give up our own hopes and dreams and follow God leading us. The fact is that He has designed each of us uniquely so that we can serve Him first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you listening to what God is saying to you?&lt;br /&gt;What has He given you a heart for that you aren’t pursuing?&lt;br /&gt;What are you using as an excuse to stay comfortable?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Let me know. I'd love to hear your story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-3004417713746623977?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/3004417713746623977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=3004417713746623977' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3004417713746623977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3004417713746623977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/05/but-first.html' title='But First...'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-5334454405038725139</id><published>2008-05-09T15:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T16:17:42.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me According to Colin</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Below is one of my Mother's Day presents from Colin. The words in italics are his:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;My mom's name is &lt;em&gt;Joy&lt;/em&gt;. She is &lt;em&gt;20&lt;/em&gt; years old and weighs &lt;em&gt;30&lt;/em&gt; pounds. Her hair is &lt;em&gt;black&lt;/em&gt; and her eyes are &lt;em&gt;blue&lt;/em&gt;. She cooks &lt;em&gt;macaroni and cheese&lt;/em&gt; the best and she loves to eat &lt;em&gt;broccoli&lt;/em&gt;. I think her favorite color is &lt;em&gt;pink&lt;/em&gt;. She doesn't like to &lt;em&gt;clean the backyard&lt;/em&gt; very much. She likes to watch &lt;em&gt;movies&lt;/em&gt; on tv. My mom spends a lot of time &lt;em&gt;at her job&lt;/em&gt;. I'll bet my mom would like to have &lt;em&gt;earrings&lt;/em&gt;. I hope she knows how much I love her! Love, &lt;em&gt;Colin&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Don'tcha just LOVE kids!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-5334454405038725139?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/5334454405038725139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=5334454405038725139' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5334454405038725139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5334454405038725139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/05/me-according-to-colin.html' title='Me According to Colin'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-1175512284470083732</id><published>2008-05-01T15:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T15:34:26.594-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Well, It's Official!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I put in my resignation Tuesday morning. Overall it was well-received by both my administrator and my supervisor. Neither one of them were overly excited about it, however, they both totally understand my desire to be with the kids. So, that's the news - June 12 will be my last day at work. Then I'll be a "normal mommy" according to Colin!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-1175512284470083732?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/1175512284470083732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=1175512284470083732' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/1175512284470083732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/1175512284470083732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/05/well-its-official.html' title='Well, It&apos;s Official!'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-6435147533855183730</id><published>2008-04-17T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-17T15:16:34.328-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Life's Greatest Calling</title><content type='html'>I've been struggling a lot lately with managing working full-time and mommying full-time. When I came back to work almost exactly three years ago, I really thought I could juggle both home and job. I thought that as the kids got older, they'd become more self-sufficient and I'd have more time with Kris and less guilt about leaving them. It turns out that for the most part, the opposite is true. Surprisingly, they still need me - just in different ways. I find my lunch breaks taken up with pick-ups and drop-offs and I've had to take several hours of sick time for appointments, school activities and special time with the kids. Many afternoons I play the part of mediator over the phone after school. A job which, quite frankly, I can't stand. It breaks my heart to tell my kids that I don't have time to solve their problems, manipulate them into doing their homework, or threaten to take away priveleges. It's so very frustrating to parent them in the afternoons from 20 minutes away, only to get home and still have to manage their lives. Don't get me wrong, I am blessed with an incredible husband, who also is also an awesome daddy, but let's face it: Mommying is something only I can do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream of the day when I can get up early, spend time with Jesus, work out for 30 minutes (cardio &amp;amp; strength), fix my kids a well-balanced breakfast and send them off to school on time, with a nutritious home made lunch in hand, after sitting down at the table with them as we pray over our day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our reality right now, however is this: dragging myself out of bed 20 minutes late, multi-tasking through signing permission slips, showering, praying &amp;amp; counting out change for their lunch, while screaming at them to get their lazy tooshies out of bed, followed by me threatening to ground them until the Second Coming - and all of that takes place before we leave the house 10 minutes late!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm convinced at this point in my life that mediocrity reigns supreme. I've gotten so far as being able to do most things in both parts of my life adequately for maybe 30 or so consecutive hours. After that, the balls drop and splatter (to make yet another mess) at my feet. I'm tired of not measuring up, of feeling left out, of not quite making things right. I know that the "Superwoman" goal is a myth and that the concept of a perfect "Proverbs 31" woman is unattainable, at least for me. Since it's getting to the point that something will have to give, I'm giving y'all a head's up: I'm choosing my family. This, after all, is what I believe my greatest calling is. The legacy I want to leave is one of faith and not one of business. I know I'm fortunate to work in a church, and that on some scale, my 40 hours a week away fromt the kids have some sort of eternal impact, or maybe not... Regardless, my kids are much more important than typing letters, organizing events and answering phone calls. I want them to know that. I want them to know that they are loved unconditionally and completely, not only by me and Kris, but by their heavenly Father. I want them to relish in the laughter and fun that I haven't recently had the opportunity to give them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know full well that there is no perfect mom - working or not - that exists. I'm not at all trying to be that. I'm sure when I finally commit to being home more that there will be days that drive me to tears. I already know how crazy I feel when I am home with them. However, I also know that being available to them, engaging them and loving them is the best thing I can do with my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pray for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-6435147533855183730?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/6435147533855183730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=6435147533855183730' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/6435147533855183730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/6435147533855183730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-lifes-greatest-calling.html' title='My Life&apos;s Greatest Calling'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-5064042421960450878</id><published>2008-03-27T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T12:26:32.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Apologies to Karla Sue</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Over the last several years, I've started apologizing to my mom for specific things I did as a kid. "Why?" you may ask. I'll tell you: because my kids do them to me and it makes me realize how selfish and insensitive I was. Here's a list of recent ones:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;1. I'm sorry for thinking you had nothing better to do with your day than to meet my every whim - spoken and unspoken.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;2. I'm sorry for getting sick on a day that you had 831 things on your to-do list and I needed you home to clean up my vomit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;3. I'm sorry I vomited on your newly-cleaned floors. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;4. I'm sorry for thinking that God created you to be a walking ATM and that you could just deposit money into yourself from the money tree that I thought grew in the backyard.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;5. I'm sorry for every time you disagreed with Dad over the most effective way to discipline me and it grew into an argument between the two of you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;6. I'm sorry when I argued with you about anything - but mostly, homework.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;7. I'm sorry for every single time I rolled my eyes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;8. I'm sorry for being funny and/or cute when you really wanted to backhand me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;9. I'm sorry for making you look like a bad mom in public. (This includes misbehaving, bad dressing, stains on clothing and arguing with Mark, among other things)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;10. I'm sorry for every time I thought I was smarter than you and Dad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;If you're reading, Mom, thanks for forgiving me! I love you!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-5064042421960450878?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/5064042421960450878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=5064042421960450878' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5064042421960450878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/5064042421960450878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/03/apologies-to-karla-sue.html' title='Apologies to Karla Sue'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-1877105749722874288</id><published>2008-03-21T09:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-21T15:15:53.864-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Difference Between Boys &amp; Girls</title><content type='html'>Since we have three fairly rambunctious boys and 1 fairly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;independent&lt;/span&gt; girl, I feel pretty qualified to assess the difference between the two sexes. Following is my conclusion so far. Know that I reserve the right to edit, add to and otherwise change my point of view, as we have barely even started the teenage years...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Boys come with sound effects. The funniest thing for me and Stacee to do is watch and listen to our boys, Kris included, communicate. They can't get through a paragraph, much less a sentence, without adding noices that would rival a South American jungle during mating season. Stacee, on the other hand, didn't talk unti she was nearly 18 months (late by Smith family standards). She used her face exclusively to communicate - and still does. She's like her mama: all her thoughts run across her face and you can see them in her eyes. It's almost as entertaining watching her have a conversation as it is watching the boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Boys are perpetually dirty (especially Brennan, our "muck magnet"). It fascinates me that Stacee simply can't stand to have her hands dirty, a speck on her clothes or food on her face, and never could. Conversely, the boys could be covered with any manner of goop, dirt, yuck and mess and think they're ready to go out to dinner and actually come in contact with the public! Sometimes I think that I'll have to actually chisel the stuff off the little boys' hands. I'm relieved to say that A.J. doesn't suffer from this affliction as much any more. There have been times, however, that he comes home from riding his bike with his buddies and he stinks. He can actually clear a room! I guess that's what 14 year-olds do. I can't decide which is worse: the look of being dirty of the smell of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Girls are harder to raise than boys. Now, it may appear that it's too early to make this assessment, as our one girl is only twelve. We haven't hit the infamous teenage years with her. She hasn't started dating, or loitering at the mall, or texting in the middle of the night, but with nearly a decade and a half of parenting under our belts, I can tell you that she is harder to raise. She costs more money, more time and sometimes, more energy. I realize that all of these things might be related to her personality and not necessarily her gender. Kris and I have found that we worry more about her and certainly want to protect her more. We've found that we've often said we'd rather have one girl and three boys, than three girls and one boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm certain there will be additions to this list as the years go on, but don't misunderstand me. Our kids and their growing up process fascinates me. It's a testament to the God we serve that four people with individual personalities and characteristics can come into being from the same set of dna. They're all being raised essentially the same way: with lots of sarcasm, millions of hugs and tons of laughter, yet they are so distinctly different. What an awesome miracle Kris and I get to be a part of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just hope and pray they still like us when they're parents themselves!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-1877105749722874288?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/1877105749722874288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=1877105749722874288' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/1877105749722874288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/1877105749722874288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/03/difference-between-boys-girls.html' title='The Difference Between Boys &amp; Girls'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-1608098743909422747</id><published>2008-03-13T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T11:46:00.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The King of Leprechaun Trap Makers</title><content type='html'>In case you're wondering, that's who I'm married to: The King of Leprechaun Trap Makers. I know, I know, it may not be a title that most men covet, but it belongs to Kris now anyway, by his own admission.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This all started about week ago when Colin brought home from kindergarten a green sheet of paper with a drawing on it, titled "How to Make a Leprechaun Trap." The first line on this paper said, "This will be a fun project for you and your child to do together."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me digress for a moment from my original subject... Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't homework assignments be for THE CHILD? This is obviously not a project a 6 year-old can tackle on their own. If it's coming home with directions for both of us, in my opnion, it's not age-appropriate. I'm all for hangin' out with my kid, but shouldn't I get to choose how I do that? Not to mention the fact that as parents I've done more homework in the 8 years since A.J. started school than the entire 12 years I attended myself. We've covered solar system mobiles, shoebox diaramas (between the four kids, I think we've done about a dozen!) and book reports in all shapes and sizes. For you parents of younger kids, book reports are no longer just for high schoolers. They start in first grade and encompass all sorts of posters, drawings, coffee cans, paper plates and paints.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to the King. When the assignment came home, I very gently delegated it to my husband. After all, building things seems like a daddy thing to do, right? I figured he'd cover a shoebox with some green construction paper, prop it up with a dowel, throw some plastic gold coins under it and call it good. Little did I realize that building a Leprechaun trap for a child in kindergarten would encompass sketches, power tools (plural, mind you), a trip to Ace Hardware, an air compressor and a band-aid. How silly of me! How could I not have imagined that my fun-loving husband (who is an exceptional daddy, by the way) would turn something relatively simple into four hours of swearing. For a time yesterday afternoon, I was worried that Colin wouldn't even be permitted to help. Needless to say, the trap was finished long after Colin was dreaming of pots of gold and rainbows. I'll let you know how it goes at school today...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-1608098743909422747?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/1608098743909422747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=1608098743909422747' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/1608098743909422747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/1608098743909422747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/03/king-of-leprechaun-trap-makers.html' title='The King of Leprechaun Trap Makers'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-3639739959758663659</id><published>2008-03-07T15:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T15:49:52.373-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cuteness &amp; Probably</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;This morning as we were walking out the door, Stacee said to me, "Oh, you look cute mommy." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;As much as I'd like to admit that I'm mature enough in my appearance to not depend on the compliments of a 12 year-old, let's face it: I'm not! I loved that though she said it with a tone of surprise in her voice (apparently, she was shocked to see me looking cute), she said it none the less. My heart swelled, my face smiled and I've been on cloud 9 all day long feeling attractive. It's been a good Friday! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;I suppose I should disregard the fact that at 33 I'm not going for "cute"...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;And here's my favorite conversation of the week:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Telephone rings&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Me: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Hello? Yes, he's here. May I tell him who's calling?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Walk down the hall to A.J.'s lair.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Me: A.J., it's &lt;strong&gt;another&lt;/strong&gt; girl for you. Who's Samantha?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A.J.: A friend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Me: A friend from school or church?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A.J.: School&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;My thought: It's like pulling frickin' teeth trying to get him to volunteer information!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Me: Do you have a girlfriend?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A.J.: No.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Me: Do you like anyone?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A.J.: Maybe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;See above comment in italics.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Me: Does anyone like you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;A.J.: Probably.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I hand him the phone, our conversation is clearly over.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Probably? Probably? What kind of swelled head is this kid getting? He's just assuming that somewhere someone likes him. Ha! There are days that I don't even like him and I gave birth to him! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;Seriously, though, I'm thankful he's such a likeable kid, even if his hair is too long and he's doesn't lack any confidence.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-3639739959758663659?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/3639739959758663659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=3639739959758663659' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3639739959758663659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/3639739959758663659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/03/cuteness-probably.html' title='Cuteness &amp; Probably'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9177441479330514837.post-7189673139014776184</id><published>2008-02-28T11:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T12:04:40.418-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Poisonberries With Chicken, Please</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Here's the conversation that happened last night in our family room. It was between our youngest son Colin, and Kris, while they were nose to nose, Kris holding Colin in his arms:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;C: What's for dinner?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;K: Chicken, potatoes and vegetables. I know you don't like any of that, so you can have cereal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;C: I only like chicken with that berry stuff on it. (Hand waving - apparently this is the international sign for "berry stuff" and will clear the air so we'll understand him)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;(Blank look by Kris and me)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;C: You know, poisonberries. (This is where he looks at us like we're idiots)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;K: Boisenberries? You like chicken with boisenberries? Where did you have that?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;C: Yeah, we had it for dinner that one time. That's the way I like my chicken. Can we have that tonight?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;(Still the blank looks are on our faces)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;K: I have no idea what you're talking about.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;(Finally the lightbulb flickers...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Me: Do you mean cranberries and turkey? Like on Thanksgiving?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;C: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. That's what I like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I'm always amazed at how the world looks through the eyes of my kids. Their humor and honesty make me smile daily. This conversation was a great reminder to me that as grown up as our little 6 year-old likes to act, he's still just a little guy. The days wiz by so fast with rehearsals, homework, social lives, birthday parties and church stuff. I have a hard time sometimes remember who is supposed to be where when, who needs poster board for their project, which kid needs a ride somewhere and what time so-and-so is coming by to do something. He and his siblings are growing so very fast and the time that I have any input in their lives is so very small when compared with their whole lives. All I can do is hope and pray I say the right things, love them the right way and hug them enough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;At the end of the day, though, no matter what I do, he still prefers poisonberries with his chicken.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9177441479330514837-7189673139014776184?l=inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/feeds/7189673139014776184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9177441479330514837&amp;postID=7189673139014776184' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/7189673139014776184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9177441479330514837/posts/default/7189673139014776184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://inspiredlifeart.blogspot.com/2008/02/poisonberries-with-chicken-please.html' title='Poisonberries With Chicken, Please'/><author><name>kjasbc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16563175377846684963</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
