tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20952659289304171532024-03-12T16:05:42.093-07:00Beth Morey, Writer + ArtistBeth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.comBlogger1236125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-57513547717215670062015-10-15T11:15:00.003-07:002015-10-15T11:20:12.788-07:00We're Moving<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5562/14811848815_d910cf500c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5562/14811848815_d910cf500c.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/serpicolugnut/14811848815/" target="_blank">image</a> by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/serpicolugnut/" target="_blank">Theodore Lee</a> via Creative Commons</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">We're Moving</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This internet has been feeling claustrophobic lately. Well, for a while now, actually. It started shifting within me about a year ago, but into what wasn't clear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And now, it is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">So I'm moving. Rebranding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">You'll be able to find all the same things that you've come to love about this space over on the <a href="http://www.sheofthewild.com/" target="_blank">new site</a>. Plus, it's prettier over there. Like, a LOT prettier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I would love it if you'd follow along. The page you're looking at right now will remain for a bit, but eventually it will redirect to the new website.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(And if you choose not to hop along to my next with me, please know that I so appreciate the comments, love, support, and more that you have shared with me over the past years. There are not words enough for my gratitude for you. Thank you.) </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">Are you ready?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.sheofthewild.com/" target="_blank">Let's go</a>.</b></span></div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-5738974156029708352015-09-02T05:00:00.000-07:002015-09-02T05:00:07.735-07:00Looking Back on What I Wrote Last Summer by Deana Ruston<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{A note from Beth: from May
through August 2015, I am featuring some delicious guest writers here on
the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and adjust to our new
family rhythms (find more details here). Enjoy!} </i></span> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0qoXWT839fAY9H6afDx9UKNb5CCnTXdH7ec2DsZv9GjTclGWOdUFyNGGetY0WBKRtzg474TBS2I5TQZqc4JelsknkWZtEonKKD0Fu8TZyYzJt0CjvX3IXSrdpOgPNqAVklthoyNPwJPb/s1600/1962787_10152923711633413_8637878500574804462_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0qoXWT839fAY9H6afDx9UKNb5CCnTXdH7ec2DsZv9GjTclGWOdUFyNGGetY0WBKRtzg474TBS2I5TQZqc4JelsknkWZtEonKKD0Fu8TZyYzJt0CjvX3IXSrdpOgPNqAVklthoyNPwJPb/s320/1962787_10152923711633413_8637878500574804462_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption"><i>photo by Deana</i></td></tr>
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Last summer I wrote the following piece after reflecting on the value of my life. Of course, then I didn’t realize what was to come. Having gone through cancer as a young adult just recently these words I wrote ring even more true now. <br />
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I never thought it would happen to me. Ever. <br />
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I guess everyone thinks that though. I mean theoretically I was healthy, I exercised and ate what I was supposed to. Then it happened. “You have cancer.” <br />
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As I dealt with the shock and sorrow of what had come I knew I had to keep going. I’ve always been a fighter. Born at 25 weeks gestation in 1992, being a fighter was me from the beginning. I knew I had to keep fighting. There wasn’t an option not to. For the babies, born too soon, and the ones taken too early I had to keep going. That was supposed to be me. Somehow, some way I made it before and I would make it again. What I wrote in the summer of 2014 is true now more than ever. Somehow I keep overcoming. Rising above each challenge I face and continuing on serving out my purpose here on earth. <br />
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This is what I wrote last summer and looking back to what I wrote, it helped propel me through these hard times. Here it is below: <br />
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<i>I had someone ask me the other day, what I do when the days are tough and how I get through them, here’s my response: <br /> </i></blockquote>
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<i>Let’s go back to the beginning. I was born at 25 weeks gestation in April 1992. I’m not supposed to be here. I shouldn’t be here- but I am. Somehow I made it. Many people worked so hard, so I could live. This is crazy. I beat the odds. It scares me. Some days I wonder why- why me. Why did I make it? There must be a reason why. Many families with babies born too soon, aren’t so lucky, it makes me sad. The tattoo on my right wrist, reading, “you’ve been a fighter since the beginning keep fighting” and “Strength” on my left remind me to keep going and give everything I do my best shot. I’m a miracle. I have to live everyday like I own it, I have the power to make each day the best it can be. I’m just so lucky to be here. That’s all that matters. I want to give back to the world around me, just because I’m here. It’s truly overwhelming. It’s life changing. Knowing this, going forward I can do better. I’m a fighter, I’m just in awe. Needless to say, my life has direction. I’m ready to make a difference and keep going. I can’t shake this feeling of thankfulness or joy for what I have already had. I can’t wait to see where I’m off to next, reflecting on the fact that I’m alive, I really have no reason what so ever to complain. I’m alive. I don’t need anything else. I have everything I need.</i></blockquote>
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I can’t wait to continue living out my purpose here on earth. After going through all that I have in my 23 years so far this proves to me that I can overcome everything and that I’m here for a reason. I better live my life in the best way possible because everything I do has an impact. I can make change and help others by just being me. By the numbers I shouldn’t be here time and time again but I make it and keep going. <br />
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<b>Sometimes I need to remind myself of how far I’ve come, and simply how miraculous it is for me to be here</b>. Really it is nothing short of a miracle. Some how I keep overcoming and keep going. For that I am blessed and honored. <b>Let's keep living</b>. It's a privilege not everyone is given. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgdiphBvFfSLHtIfSLkG7MXuWUT98qS2Sc9KLwMLczaDlWEdJaTeJBwqEb3lH5N6G5ZmT_OzdkpmpSG0HFiv71BBRTd3DjZc5qKiZKDPHDBOLZrpgTpXjmutKMx4V5I9TRUNmh3zqFPys/s1600/IMG_20140521_193709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgdiphBvFfSLHtIfSLkG7MXuWUT98qS2Sc9KLwMLczaDlWEdJaTeJBwqEb3lH5N6G5ZmT_OzdkpmpSG0HFiv71BBRTd3DjZc5qKiZKDPHDBOLZrpgTpXjmutKMx4V5I9TRUNmh3zqFPys/s200/IMG_20140521_193709.jpg" width="150" /></a><i>Deana Ruston, a 23 year old from London, Ontario, Canada (about 2 hours from Toronto), studies grief and bereavement counselling at King's University College at Western University. She has an interest in pregnancy and infant loss, loves to bake, cook and volunteer. Born at 25 weeks gestation, she identifies as a fighter. She won't back down.</i><br />
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-88509936656199201892015-08-26T06:00:00.000-07:002015-08-26T06:00:05.483-07:00Why We Want the World To End by Aspen Bassett<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/mattnjohnson/2697400659/" target="_blank">photo</a> by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/mattnjohnson/" target="_blank">Matt Johnson</a> via Creative Commons</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{A note from Beth: from May
through August 2015, I am featuring some delicious guest writers here on
the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and adjust to our new
family rhythms (find more details here). Enjoy!}</i></span> <br />
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In my lifetime, I’ve seen countless videos, news reports, TV shows, and movies critiquing what’s wrong in our world. I’ve read blogs, books, newspapers, and Sunday comics blaming others or even ourselves for things that haven’t even happened yet. Or for things that can’t be proven. I’m twenty three years old and I’ve been told the world is going to end within the year so many times it’s become a joke. Heck, my family hosted a party for the apocalypse in 2012. Obviously, we were stood up. I would say thankfully but I know too many people who don’t agree. The world can’t get better, they say, just get it over with already. <br />
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<b>Why do we want the world to end? Because it’s bad? Because corruption has leaked into every home? No. Because we’ve stopped loving each other.</b> The world is in a depression and I don’t just mean financially. Let’s look at all the signs of chronic depression shall we? <br />
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According to <a href="http://www.helpguide.org/">HelpGuide.org</a>, a non-profit guide to mental health and well-being, there are around six possible tells to see if a person is going through chronic depression and<b> every single one of them applies to us as a nation, possibly as a world</b>. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. “You can’t concentrate or find that previously easy tasks are now difficult."</span><br />
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There are eleven screens in my family’s living room alone on an average day. There are four of us in the house. Everyone I know owns a smart phone and has it within arm’s reach at all times. Is it for emergencies? Yes. But not the 911 calls we all pretend it’s for. These screens save us, distract us from the national scale depression. We don’t want to think about the world or how hard it would be to make a difference. We don’t want to drown in to-do lists and the must-dos of life which our ancestors had to face head on. Scientists actually have a name for it. Screen Addiction. It’s today’s drug of choice and it’s completely FDA approved. Why deal with life when you can just turn on the TV and skim through Pinterest? Seriously, I’m asking as an addict. But I know there are other addictions out there too. Alcohol, drugs, coffee, pills, oh how the list goes on. They’re Band-Aids for a problem much bigger than the highest dose of your preferred poison. Because life is hard and most people I’ve met are aware that it shouldn’t be that hard. It’s just a job. It’s just a family reunion. It’s just a date. So why is everything so difficult to us? <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /> 2. “You feel hopeless or helpless.” </span><br />
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Not feeling in control of your life is the root cause of stress. Superheroes are really big in our literary world right now. Why do you think that is? Personally, I think there’s a lot of reasons but the biggest one is that superheroes have control. They insist on it. They stand on rooftops with bloodied knees and say “I have hope and I can help.” That’s nice to see after a long day of “I can’t do this” and “where would I even start?” Sometimes it’s not about going to the theater and watching a cute boy in tights defeat the bad guy with his puppy dog eyes. It’s about having something to believe in, something to remind us as a country, no as a world, that people can make a difference. Maybe you identify with the caped ones and wish “if only I had the power to help those around me.” Or maybe, at times much like myself, you identify with the ones on the ground looking up with soot on their cheeks and fear in their eyes because they need an extra hand. Perhaps, in a way, we as a nation crave superheroes because we want that look of hope back in our mirrors. We want to remember what it’s like to believe in something strong enough to hold our fears and sadness. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. “You can’t control your negative thoughts, no matter how much you try.” </span><br />
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Have you ever been on Facebook and it seems like every post is a negative commentary on some random thing that happened? And then everyone gets in this argument about whether or not it was really negative, if they had a point, or if they just need to shut up and stop listening to sad music all the time? And you’re innocently scrolling down the website thinking “90% of you would never have said that in person.” Or maybe you watch this awesome YouTube video about some gifted singer and then you scroll down and everyone’s bashing her because her teeth weren’t straight? I know so many people who are good but when they get on the Internet, they almost all change personalities. Take me for example. I have to watch myself when I’m online because there’s no repercussions if I written-ly attack the people I don’t agree with. But it’s not just the negative comments on twitter or whatever else is out there that depressed people have a hard time controlling. It’s the thoughts inside one’s mind. Can you think of anything or anyone that, as soon as the idea crosses your mind, you’re bitter? That’s it, you think, it’s people like that that’s why the world is ending. I personally don’t know anyone who can confidently say “There’s no soul I can’t love.” Remember, tolerate and love are two very different words. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. “You have lost your appetite or you can’t stop eating.” </span><br />
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Yay! That’s an easy one for America! In the top three of the most obese countries. Last I checked anyway but that was before we made such a fuss about twinkies. Deepak Chopra wrote a book called What Are You Hungry For which talks about why we can’t control our cravings. Why I prefer to over eat rather than stop when I feel comfortable or deal with the things I have to do after lunch. At least, that’s what I think it’s about. I’m too busy eating fries and Pinteresting to actually read it. The hit TV show Supernatural had a seasonal villain who manipulated our food in order to turn us into the perfect herd. I personally don’t think they were too far off from the truth. But the sad fact stands that all the food manipulation and corruption is out there in the open. People know. They just don’t care. Some food industries take out the nutrients in their products so our bodies will insist we eat more in order to get the required amount. This is a fact yet I still buy their products. <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /> 5. “You are much more irritable, short-tempered, or aggressive than usual.” </span><br />
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Is it just me or are we in a lot of wars right now? And I’m not just talking overseas. I’m talking right here at home. In the schools and movie theaters and everywhere else that people shoot or attack or go crazy. People yell and scream at each other and maybe you don’t see it all the time but it’s there and it’s in your town. I know, there are times when I tell myself I can be patient, I can shrug it off because it’s not a big deal and logically I know it’s nothing worth making a fuss over but something inside me feels like the camel’s back the moment it snaps. Suddenly, I’m struggling to control my voice, my tears are already on high, and we’re bashing pet peeves like gladiators to the death. <br />
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Then there’s the last but certainly not the least tell of chronic depression. The big ol’ number six.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">6. “You have thoughts that life is not worth living (seek help immediately if this is the case.)” </span><br />
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Okay, maybe the big literary wave of post-apocalyptic literature isn’t a subconscious plea for the end of the world. Maybe there aren’t people out there warning us that if we don’t change our ways, the sun will eat us up. But would you turn your head if your friend had suicidal thoughts? Are we not, as a nation and possibly a world, crying out for help? Do we not fear that our future holds only sun burns and empty wells, too many people and not enough bees? The world could end. That I believe. But if it does it will be by its own hand. <br />
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If a person has suicidal thoughts, they’re encouraged to reach out for help both to those who love them and a professional. If a world is feeling suicidal, to whom can it turn? Who loves the world unconditionally?<br />
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And that, my friend, is the clincher. Because the world is a combination of every single being within it. Every soul, body, and mistake. Yet we are plagued with racism, sexism and so many other kinds of -isms that people just started hyphenating them. The problem isn’t racism because we’re all one race. It’s not sexism because it’s not just one gender’s problem. It’s all conditional-ism because<b> it’s about people who refuse to love until certain conditions have been met. It’s about seeing the world as one being that hates itself, can’t see any point to go on, and doesn’t have anyone to turn to for help. It’s about seeing the people around us as parts of the same being, who need hope and can give it back. </b><br />
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I love the parenthesis in the last sign of depression. “Seek help immediately if this is the case.” I do believe the world is seeking help. It’s going inward. It’s asking us. Alone, we cannot do it. Together, it could be as easy as breathing. I guess there’s only one way to know for sure. Love the people around you and allow yourself to become aware of any changes. Does your personal world become healthier? Like an organ regaining strength? It did to me. Either way, thank you for reading, and I love you.<br />
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<i>Aspen Bassett is a writer who works as a librarian on her spare time. She's been published in multiple anthologies including Oomph: A Little Super Goes A Long Way, Inaccurate Realities: Time Travel, and Inaccurate Realities: Superpowers. Follow her on her website <a href="http://aspenbassett.com/">aspenbassett.com</a> to see how to turn your life into a hero's quest. </i></div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-51646948039203544132015-08-22T12:46:00.002-07:002015-08-23T11:09:29.313-07:00Amazon Kindle Deals for August 22, 2015<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7068/6940957559_41c1a3c299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7068/6940957559_41c1a3c299.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jonastana/6940957559/" target="_blank">photo</a> by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jonastana/" target="_blank">Jonas Tana</a> via Creative Commons</i></span> </div>
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I love reading physical books -- I love the feel of the covers against my palms, the heft of the book, the smell of the pages. But when I am breastfeeding, I find myself with a lot of down time where I'd like to read, but holding a physical book is just clunky. Enter Amazon Kindle + their apps wonderful (free!) apps. I read so. many. books during my breastfeeding seasons thanks to them!<br />
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I also value a good deal. I have a serious problem paying $9.99 for a digital book that I won't be able to resell or give away when I'm done with it. But price those puppies at $2.99 or less and I'm sold. And because I've been spending so much time combing the internets for Kindle deals, I thought I'd aggregate some of my findings for you here on the blog, irregularly and as I can, because breastfeeding.<br />
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I haven't read all these, but they are all books that I really want to read and that the reviews speak highly of, and most of them are temporarily marked down from higher prices (a few are permanently cheapie cheap cheap). All prices are in USD. Many of these titles are free for Kindle Unlimited members and/or are available in the Kindle Lending Library, so be sure to check for those options to save even more money.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Kindle Deals for August 22, 2015</span></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0089LOG2A/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0089LOG2A&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=GIIXH7AP6AO2YKTK" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0089LOG2A/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0089LOG2A&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=GIIXH7AP6AO2YKTK" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51%2B1ijOnMbL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<i> </i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0089LOG2A/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0089LOG2A&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=GIIXH7AP6AO2YKTK" target="_blank"><i>The Accursed</i></a> by Joyce Carol Oates</div>
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Price: $1.99</div>
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Genre: Historical Fiction<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005IQZB14/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005IQZB14&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=GOKT7Z4U623Y6Q4" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005IQZB14/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005IQZB14&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=GOKT7Z4U623Y6Q4" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51BFqxaUWmL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005IQZB14/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005IQZB14&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=GOKT7Z4U623Y6Q4" target="_blank"><i>Wild</i></a> by Cheryl Strayed</div>
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Price: $3.99</div>
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Genre: Memoir, Travel/Adventure<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005ZOBNOI/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005ZOBNOI&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=2IHORDDKNVWQ6DUA" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005ZOBNOI/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005ZOBNOI&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=2IHORDDKNVWQ6DUA" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51dezgvr%2B7L._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005ZOBNOI/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B005ZOBNOI&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=2IHORDDKNVWQ6DUA" target="_blank">The Fault In Our Stars</a> </i>by John Green</div>
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Price: $2.99</div>
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Genre: Young Adult</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001ANSS5K/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001ANSS5K&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=D64BH3QZFXL5SVHJ" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001ANSS5K/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001ANSS5K&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=D64BH3QZFXL5SVHJ" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51R37toCkOL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001ANSS5K/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001ANSS5K&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=D64BH3QZFXL5SVHJ" target="_blank">Paper Towns</a> </i>by John Green</div>
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Price: $3.99</div>
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Genre: Young Adult<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0027MJU00/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0027MJU00&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=LW3G5PRIDXDIY66N" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0027MJU00/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0027MJU00&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=LW3G5PRIDXDIY66N" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/5130du3pVgL._SX303_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="195" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0027MJU00/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0027MJU00&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=LW3G5PRIDXDIY66N" target="_blank">Dark Places</a> </i>by Gillian Flynn</div>
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Price: $2.99</div>
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Genre: Mystery, Thriller</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004JN1D3M/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004JN1D3M&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=54VAZLJKQNZH2BTY" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004JN1D3M/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004JN1D3M&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=54VAZLJKQNZH2BTY" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51ZHLyX94RL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004JN1D3M/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B004JN1D3M&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=54VAZLJKQNZH2BTY" target="_blank">Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)</a> </i>by Mindy Kaling</div>
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Price: $4.99</div>
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Genre: Humor, Memoir<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008LQ239G/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B008LQ239G&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=7ZDU4CWLPD6ACDRX" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008LQ239G/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B008LQ239G&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=7ZDU4CWLPD6ACDRX" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/517VeUSl9YL._SX326_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008LQ239G/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B008LQ239G&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=7ZDU4CWLPD6ACDRX" target="_blank">Happiness, Like Water</a> </i>by Chinelo Okparanta</div>
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Price: $2.99 </div>
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Genre: Historical/Literary Fiction, Short Stories<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FC2L1O/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000FC2L1O&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=RAPJQGTQMEYES3KV" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FC2L1O/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000FC2L1O&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=RAPJQGTQMEYES3KV" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51bDonwUjPL._SX302_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="194" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000FC2L1O/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000FC2L1O&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=RAPJQGTQMEYES3KV" target="_blank"><i>Outlander</i> (Book 1)</a> by Diana Gabaldon</div>
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Price: $1.99</div>
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Genre: Historical Fiction/Fantasy</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ULP98BQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00ULP98BQ&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=ITNZRUYQ3U2BEVCL" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ULP98BQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00ULP98BQ&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=ITNZRUYQ3U2BEVCL" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51fOq2syxTL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ULP98BQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00ULP98BQ&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=ITNZRUYQ3U2BEVCL" target="_blank"><i>Game of Scones</i></a> by Samantha Tonge</div>
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Price: $1.99</div>
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Genre: Contemporary Romance </div>
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Comments: Game of scones! Get it? Get it? :D<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009LM4EBO/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B009LM4EBO&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=JKTG5B4DTQABKPRA" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009LM4EBO/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B009LM4EBO&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=JKTG5B4DTQABKPRA" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41uZN4ar%2BpL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009LM4EBO/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B009LM4EBO&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=JKTG5B4DTQABKPRA" target="_blank"><i>Wife by Wednesday</i></a> by Catherine Bybee</div>
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Price: $1.99</div>
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Genre: Wedding Romance</div>
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Comments: I've been stocking up on romantic fiction to keep my head in the zone while I write the sequel to The Light Between Us, and I've had my eye on this one for a while, but until now the price has been too high for me. This is book one in a seven book series, and the rest of the series is on sale, too.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00M7C185A/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00M7C185A&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=YUVBUV4ZON53SWI3" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00M7C185A/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00M7C185A&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=YUVBUV4ZON53SWI3" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/4178u2zJPvL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00M7C185A/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00M7C185A&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=YUVBUV4ZON53SWI3" target="_blank">The Substitute</a> </i>by Denise Grover Swank</div>
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Price: $0.99</div>
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Genre: Wedding Romance</div>
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Comments: I read this book and really loved it. The sex scenes were a little too graphic for my tastes, but most romance readers expect some hot sex scenes, and they didn't detract from the rest of the book for me. This is book one in a trilogy, and the other books are currently on sale at $3.99.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1477827218/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1477827218&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=K4ZFMTPWPKLQXH4O" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1477827218/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1477827218&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=K4ZFMTPWPKLQXH4O" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51SfPEx38WL._SX332_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1477827218/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1477827218&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=K4ZFMTPWPKLQXH4O" target="_blank"><i>The Towers of Tuscany</i></a> by Carol M. Cram</div>
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Price: $3.99</div>
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Genre: Historical/Biographical Fiction</div>
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Comments: The hard copy of this book is also on sale at the moment for $6.99, down from $14.95.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00DB367IW/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00DB367IW&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=B7O24JRN7TX2TYQO" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00DB367IW/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00DB367IW&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=B7O24JRN7TX2TYQO" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61195ksIEzL._SX329_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00DB367IW/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00DB367IW&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=B7O24JRN7TX2TYQO" target="_blank"><i>The Angel of Losses</i></a> by Stephanie Feldman</div>
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Price: $1.99</div>
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Genre: Historical Fiction<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00K0IRXHU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00K0IRXHU&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=WBUV7MPHKVNOXPVO" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00K0IRXHU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00K0IRXHU&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=WBUV7MPHKVNOXPVO" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41GU0kJzxQL._SX373_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00K0IRXHU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00K0IRXHU&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=WBUV7MPHKVNOXPVO" target="_blank"><i>The Passion of Marie Romanov</i></a> by Laura Rose</div>
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Price: $2.99</div>
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Genre: Historical Fiction, YA Fiction<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00Z4FNGU2/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00Z4FNGU2&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=2UU6IJ4ZAA226574" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00Z4FNGU2/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00Z4FNGU2&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=2UU6IJ4ZAA226574" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51qSKlpoFLL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00Z4FNGU2/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00Z4FNGU2&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=2UU6IJ4ZAA226574" target="_blank"><i>The Dress Thief</i></a> by Natalie Meg Evans</div>
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Price: $2.99</div>
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Genre: Historical Romance<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0105SNQWU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0105SNQWU&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=U5ERPE3DDGPAEIMZ" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0105SNQWU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0105SNQWU&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=U5ERPE3DDGPAEIMZ" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/5173qQ-9q0L._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0105SNQWU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0105SNQWU&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=U5ERPE3DDGPAEIMZ" target="_blank">The Milliner's Secret</a> </i>by Natalie Meg Evans</div>
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Price: $2.99</div>
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Genre: Historical Fiction<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ATLA8I4/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00ATLA8I4&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=NGNKFS5VAMHL6ETH" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ATLA8I4/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00ATLA8I4&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=NGNKFS5VAMHL6ETH" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51vHMA6DvNL._SX324_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="209" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ATLA8I4/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00ATLA8I4&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=NGNKFS5VAMHL6ETH" target="_blank">Island Girls</a> </i>by Nancy Thayer</div>
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Price: $1.99</div>
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Genre: Contemporary Romance<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00RZQHZGE/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00RZQHZGE&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=F6F3PW5ISUR7CE2L" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00RZQHZGE/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00RZQHZGE&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=F6F3PW5ISUR7CE2L" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51RPeIxtywL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="207" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00RZQHZGE/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00RZQHZGE&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=F6F3PW5ISUR7CE2L" target="_blank">For Sure and Certain</a> </i>by Anya Monroe</div>
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Price: $3.99</div>
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Genre: YA Romance</div>
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Comments: I've been following along with indie writer Anya Monroe for a while now, and I'm smitten with her books, her Instagram, her <a href="http://www.anyamonroe.com/" target="_blank">blog</a>. Go and read everything she has to offer, now.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0103OEBWK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0103OEBWK&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=ISCJHQ5ZE3Z62DLX" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0103OEBWK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0103OEBWK&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=ISCJHQ5ZE3Z62DLX" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51bVbTIiOML._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0103OEBWK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0103OEBWK&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=ISCJHQ5ZE3Z62DLX" target="_blank">Secrets Don't Keep</a> </i>by Elora Ramirez</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Price: $2.99</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Genre: Mystery/Suspense</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Comments: You've met Elora here on the blog before. She is awesome, and another indie author. This is her latest book, and a new release.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B013RC9L3E/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B013RC9L3E&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=O4O6D3XODJ5XSWVH" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B013RC9L3E/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B013RC9L3E&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=O4O6D3XODJ5XSWVH" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51l7rAoFA9L._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B013RC9L3E/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B013RC9L3E&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=O4O6D3XODJ5XSWVH" target="_blank">Love, Sex, and Other Miscommunications</a> </i>by Heather A. Mattern</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Price: $4.99</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Genre: Poetry</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Comments: You've also met Heather before. She just released this book of poetry this week!<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00X06PXJE/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00X06PXJE&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=6UMPZO7QPPIZ6TEU" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00X06PXJE/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00X06PXJE&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=6UMPZO7QPPIZ6TEU" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51wxwRZoOGL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00X06PXJE/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00X06PXJE&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=6UMPZO7QPPIZ6TEU" target="_blank">Six Dollar Family</a> </i>by Stacy Barr</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Price: $2.99</div>
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Genre: Personal Finance (Non-fiction)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Comments: Okay, I do not think this book is necessarily going to help anyone make six figures (and the author doesn't either, based on the book's introduction). However, I am AWFUL at budgeting/finances/planning in general. I saw this book come up under the #KindleDeals hashtag on Twitter, and after reading the excerpt and reviews I bought it because I thought it could help me. One week into implementing only one or two of Barr's suggestions and it is helping me. Good for personal finance newbies!<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00QMLW34M/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00QMLW34M&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=MOOYJPFPNNYMEA2Y" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00QMLW34M/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00QMLW34M&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=MOOYJPFPNNYMEA2Y" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61KetoZdL3L._SX365_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="320" width="235" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00QMLW34M/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00QMLW34M&linkCode=as2&tag=kitchcoura-20&linkId=MOOYJPFPNNYMEA2Y" target="_blank"><i>Emotion Amplifiers</i></a> by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi</div>
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Price: $0.00</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Genre: Dictionaries & Thesauruses, Reference (Non-fiction)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Comments: I own this one, and think it's an indispensable writing tool, especially for free. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>That's all I've got for now. What are you reading? Have you seen other good book deals out there? Share in the comments!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*this post contains affiliate links. thank you for supporting the blog!</span></span></i><b> </b></span></div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-89714975435756614712015-08-21T08:42:00.000-07:002015-08-21T08:42:38.922-07:00because once you are Real you can’t be ugly by Teresa Robinson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{A note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details here). Enjoy!} </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWxMPPzAFi7Olgb4tFjn7a6ODw5WFDlijup-6oyOMq4E4hv5Y5qS9M6ofyRlj6mUEGgeWlXyxNVFsCXQqZT6etMsnNZD0J6qSRJNGoOTMbLvqC7Gr2ZBVRcPUI_bpluJ-5esNaL3M1aud/s1600/teresa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWxMPPzAFi7Olgb4tFjn7a6ODw5WFDlijup-6oyOMq4E4hv5Y5qS9M6ofyRlj6mUEGgeWlXyxNVFsCXQqZT6etMsnNZD0J6qSRJNGoOTMbLvqC7Gr2ZBVRcPUI_bpluJ-5esNaL3M1aud/s640/teresa.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>art by Teresa</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To be
yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the
greatest accomplishment. — Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">The
initial response to Suffering {emotional overwhelm, betrayal, pain, delays,
slander, distress, death} is Denial:</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <i>personal
resistance to avoid acceptance</i>. We slam the door in its face upon arrival
and deny its very existence. Then as we stand braced against that closed door,
we immediately commence racking our brain for reasons to explain {blame}:</span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why
did this happen?</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What
did I do?</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> What
didn’t I do?</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Who
caused this?</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Who
must pay?</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">Questions
asked to serve as white noise</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> in the surreal, soundless emptiness that follows the thundering
noise of our life as it slams into the brick wall of suffering. We instinctively
wrap our-self in the faux comfort and rationalization that our suffering is
“unexpected” — that it is not that bad, that we are not as bad off as
{fill-in-the-blank}.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">The
pounding continues within this tailspin of pretending to control the suffering </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">as we move into Denial — as we
self-medicate by increasing the passionate intensity of our questioning. Until
our emotions escalate and converge — angrily demanding a plan be devised to
resolve the question of:</span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How
will I survive this?</span></span></li>
</ul>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">Anger
stands waiting on-deck, shape-shifting </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">as visceral blame, stoic indifference and
impassioned busyness. All the while mauling us from within as we isolate
our-self from anyone whose presence would threaten this inner processing; secretly
blaming them for abandoning us in our time of need.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">Then
the circular frustration of Bargaining</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> — if-only’s and when-oh-when’s? — it rages as we enter
the eye of the suffering storm within us … Shoulda, woulda, coulda scenarios
that <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in;">somehow would have</span> spared us from this turmoil.
Bargaining with our-self, believing:</span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I need to prevent this from happening again.</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">Cue
Hopelessness and Depression</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> because Suffering is not something we want to accept — and yet we futilely
seek a means of avoiding it. Even as we know there is nothing we can do about
it; even as we desperately seek guarantees and solutions and someone to carry
the blame. Suffering is part of living. There are guarantees or deals to be
made.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">We
circle back to Denial</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> because
we desperately want safety, some sort of a powerful force field, a razor-wire
fence — a boundary Suffering cannot cross.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It doesn’t happen all at once, said the Skin Horse. “You
become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who
break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally,
by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes
drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things
don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to
people who don’t understand. — Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The safety is being Real. Denial and
resistance merely intensify suffering.</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The reality is: bad things happen — a lot. Our {living}
includes suffering and hardship in varying levels every single day.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; padding: 0in;">Being
Real facilitates Acceptance.</span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The space where we can exhale, pull away from our
intercourse with paranoia, and open the blinds of our heart to see the light of
Truth. The space we hold for mourning the loss caused by suffering, and for
love to comfort us; to be sustained with each inhale and exhale. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let us allow
suffering its place; liberating us from the loss of energy and vision. Let us
allow our flailing to serve us — strengthening us as we become Real.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
<hr />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Teresa Robinson aka stargardener believes each day is a
canvas awaiting the elements we decide have meaning. She maps her way through
with torn bits of paper, words of found poetry and splashes of paint and ink;
posting field notes to <a href="http://rightbrainplanner.com/" target="_blank">Right Brain Planner</a> and on <a href="https://instagram.com/stargardener" target="_blank">Instagram</a>. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdJ0wxZdgx0hfcwhz6CvpcVfIEg3DZ2PJZ3bjvhPD1lvF-JPcw-prLzLNr75Dv7BXinvynW8WPWnWdCoEdbhJ3bgo_F0Cs3ZGL2FpMhSSHyd7HyQNo-1QMxk3dcLlkkGjaiGdgA5WgvTR/s1600/profile+update.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdJ0wxZdgx0hfcwhz6CvpcVfIEg3DZ2PJZ3bjvhPD1lvF-JPcw-prLzLNr75Dv7BXinvynW8WPWnWdCoEdbhJ3bgo_F0Cs3ZGL2FpMhSSHyd7HyQNo-1QMxk3dcLlkkGjaiGdgA5WgvTR/s320/profile+update.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-39283160488811907722015-08-12T04:00:00.000-07:002015-08-12T04:00:04.213-07:00A Blessing for Your Rebel Heart by Amanda Fall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>{A note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrQKPuEhXxojItrjE3xWRgFdRwKp_-GaVmhMzNMPM8D8eaUYS818x0UPl-2SuvanKmAXncGVCw_JClYT0E9qnctbASp-MehsypAOAGqa1xiP20k2fOkASA_Yx0D6cBc1pESYNhTSaVHDj/s1600/AmandaCollageForBeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFrQKPuEhXxojItrjE3xWRgFdRwKp_-GaVmhMzNMPM8D8eaUYS818x0UPl-2SuvanKmAXncGVCw_JClYT0E9qnctbASp-MehsypAOAGqa1xiP20k2fOkASA_Yx0D6cBc1pESYNhTSaVHDj/s400/AmandaCollageForBeth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>photos by Amanda Fall</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you feel wildly </span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">heartpoundingly</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">genuinely</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">loved . . .</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">just as you are.</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you never again</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;">
</b></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">diminish or debase,</span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;">
</b></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">soften or smother</span></b></span></span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">your fiery spirit,</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">the unchained </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">roar</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">of you.</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you believe</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">your (whole) story matters,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">even/especially the mucky bits,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">the secrets you usually keep,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">the broken pieces you try to hide.</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you believe your worthiness</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">does not depend on anyone or anything</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">other than your own</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">trueness,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">the ringing gong you have ignored</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">too long, the come-to-attention</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">your soul is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">calling,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">calling.</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you lose yourself</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">in raucous laughter,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">in weep-wails</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">from your rebel heart,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">in holy howls</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">of</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> yes</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">.</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you relax, whole-soul,</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">into knowing you are</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">radiant, through & through:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">even/especially</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">when you feel like</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">a total MESS.</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">May you feel alive</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and powerful</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and free,</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">beautiful</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">worthy</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">loved</span></div>
</b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">from the top of your head</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">to the tips of your toes.</span></div>
</b><br />
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Just as you are.</span></b></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Here. Now<b>.</b></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Amanda Fall is a truth-teller, love-believer, sacred-seeker, and heart-on-her-sleever. She is the proud creator, editor, and publisher of <a href="http://thephoenixsoul.com/">The Phoenix Soul</a>, a fiercely indie digital magazine and community honoring life’s grit and grace. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGaB_fg4it7GBJlR4m_MCbz6umPflOnL-5IR-nOzBHHMMGbasl_L3zgyRaGjEXf_0HCL0WwLFzcroqc0kGNvuaQ__7VxqTlLa9PeqrYqe8PAoJjpF4RZn8SEqXCfVVPUrbTZcn49Ma51rz/s320/AmandaFall400x400-2.jpg" width="320" /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></i></span></span></div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-81631728735371513242015-08-05T08:42:00.000-07:002015-08-05T08:50:54.380-07:00One More Push by Alise Chaffins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{A note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i></span> </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-A3GkRwzGcG777j8C63JE058N6Txw-fGm_m0SS-YU9FMUzmAndcZZ9xRbhd9uZDBVBHArr06OO7BodeFDHpTvbuWdoPa5YtXFDd5FSAk63qbpFI_RxUie80bBfPeZaDhZkrISrb1GeKXX/s1600/alise2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-A3GkRwzGcG777j8C63JE058N6Txw-fGm_m0SS-YU9FMUzmAndcZZ9xRbhd9uZDBVBHArr06OO7BodeFDHpTvbuWdoPa5YtXFDd5FSAk63qbpFI_RxUie80bBfPeZaDhZkrISrb1GeKXX/s400/alise2.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“One more push.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d been around the birth block four previous times. I knew what those words meant. It was almost time. Almost time to hear the cries. Almost time to hold the squirming little body. Almost time to sniff the top of a baby head while pulling him close to feel that ache and release of nursing him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But not this time. Less that 24 hours before, we found that our son had died before he was born. One more push and we would become the butt of every horrible “dead baby” joke. One more push and we would have our son, but only for a moment. One more push and we would go back to just being two. One more push and everything would change, but not in the way I had anticipated.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The doctor who was sitting at my feet was quieter than any I had experienced before. There were machines in the room, keeping watch over the process, but only for me. Only one heartbeat being monitored. No lamp warming up the area where our son would be laid. No pediatrician on call, waiting to give us an apgar score.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: small; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I took my husband’s hand, closed my eyes, and pushed. My sister placed her hand on my leg and encouraged me. My dad sat patiently by, whispering prayers as the moments slipped by. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Groans escaped my lips. They had a sense of familiarity to them, the groans of a woman in labor, the groans of a woman in transition. But they were accompanied by a foreign sound. Grief wove its way through those cries. Because I knew that this transition wasn’t from woman to mother, but from woman to the nameless person whose child precedes them in death.</span></b></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I surrendered to the pain and pressure and allowed our son's body to pass from me to the world where we could hold and caress his body, but never him. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder today about his own journey. His own birthing from this world to the next.</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Was there Someone holding his hand as he made that journey from here to what lies beyond? Was there Someone encouraging him, whispering to him? Was there someone to let him know that it was time to surrender?</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Was there Someone saying to him, "One more push"? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My faith, often smaller than a mustard seed but still holding on, says yes. It says that one day, all of us, saints and sinners alike, will hear the voice telling us, "One more push." An on that day, we will all be held.</span></b></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7533crWLjDw1smroQOnftl1TktpbjD298d2xMff8q5Uic6Pt2SW2gKyrJYOHCvVlHbvoAEF7qlPd3M0wX7n2cFSjG3vBxNI7ve55GyeE5NpQ114b05l4QDZ5FT746k3rbJDJsLLLLKOt/s1600/alise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7533crWLjDw1smroQOnftl1TktpbjD298d2xMff8q5Uic6Pt2SW2gKyrJYOHCvVlHbvoAEF7qlPd3M0wX7n2cFSjG3vBxNI7ve55GyeE5NpQ114b05l4QDZ5FT746k3rbJDJsLLLLKOt/s200/alise.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"><i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Alise Chaffins is a wife, mother, eater of soup, and lover of Oxford commas. You can generally find her behind a keyboard of some kind: playing or teaching piano, writing at her laptop, or texting her friends and family random movie quotes. She blogs at </span><a href="http://knittingsoul.com/" style="white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">knittingsoul.com</a></i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>. You can connect with her on <a href="http://facebook.com/knittingsoul" target="_blank">Facebook</a> or <a href="http://twitter.com/alisewrite" target="_blank">Twitter</a>.</i> </span></span></span></div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-27143320506689821152015-07-27T09:24:00.002-07:002015-08-08T12:22:39.940-07:00NIGHT CYCLES: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul {Book Release!}<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0996623809" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0996623809" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh98yhu1sjnQMk3Urnw2_hflW9Q3QFUWCgxIwnyptCSgGiygAlYhXN2583tOi9cWkYByjJ6i3cR0p8eIGxx8zUjnopbYYPV_5LgDeWWDpoZM-16fFjhJv1sVbf-dxR46gn3mIkIlGhIzASF/s640/Night+Cycles+smaller.jpg" width="414" /></a></div>
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I'm having a hard time finding words for today. Today, my book of poetry, <b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25954951-night-cycles" target="_blank">NIGHT CYCLES</a></b>, launches. Like, people are reading it. And that is both exciting and terrifying.<br />
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This is completely different from the launch of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KXFTNFU" target="_blank">THE LIGHT BETWEEN US</a>. While I definitely worked hard on that book and was proud of my efforts and the resulting book, it had mostly been a fun experiment. Could I write a sassy, semi-smutty romance novel? Challenge accepted, mission accomplished.<br />
<br />
But NIGHT CYCLES? This was not a lighthearted experiment. The poems contained within this book are born out of my deepest questions, fears, hopes, and imaginings. They come from a much deeper place. And so it is much more vulnerable of a thing to give them over to readers.<br />
<br />
The stakes are higher, because they mean more to me.<br />
But because they mean more to me, that also makes it more exciting to have people read them.<br />
<br />
What a complicated thing a book release can be for a writer!<br />
<br />
Overall, though, I am mostly thrilled that the book is out at last. I wrote most of the poems that comprise NIGHT CYCLES between 2013 and 2014, when I was going through the "dark night of the soul," "a spiritual crisis in a journey towards union with God, like that described by Saint John of the Cross" (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Night_of_the_Soul" target="_blank">source</a>). Outer and inner forces converged upon me -- lingering grief over the stillbirth of our daughter . . . my husband's new atheism . . . my own depression -- forcing me to look to the questions forming in my soul that I'd been ignoring for quite a long time. I found the faith I'd so valued crumbling in my hands. <br />
<br />
If grief taught me anything, it's that the only way out is through, and so I plunged into the depths of my dark night. And out of that came these poems -- poems of confusion and sadness, anger and loneliness, and also poems of freedom and rebirth and mysterious hope that just won't quit.<br />
<br />
And now, I offer them to you. During my dark night, poetry by Rilke, Rumi, Mary Oliver, Mark Nepo, and more were among the few solid comforts I could lay my hands on. They sustained me, nourished me, helped me to understand that I was not alone, that there was light coming if only I'd hold out for it.<br />
<br />
I hope that my poems do something like that for you. I hope that they are a lifeline, a challenge, a four course meal.<br />
<br />
I hope you enjoy them. Thank you for coming along with me on the journey of writing and releasing them<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">. Here's an excerpt, with all the where-to-get-a-copy details below:</span></span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><i>the
wildest one</i></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01252UPRI" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdRgu05HgJlIlrYWyCISyXEh3IJP8MzYlzilt8nkEOTIvOIq1lFbf15vxiYKrVIy9ycupjANBXFrt1k8l4JPv_kpIKUh6OIEAknWIN6gVbLFQ_yR7wwurkdEmg_J6CniLonJ64bWQS56Eq/s320/IMG_8738.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">do
you dare to step in-</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">to
the vulnerable black, stripped </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">to
the soul with human blindness – </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">when
the full and weeping </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">moon
steps from the shade </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">of
a tumult of mountains – </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">when,
in the fragrant dim, </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">day's
tree stump transforms</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">into
some nether-worldly other – </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">when
time's skin is thin and you are</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">bared
– when there is nothing </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">between
you and the Wildest One</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">whose
name is your own?</span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<hr />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Here are The Details!</span></b><br />
Want to get your own copy of NIGHT CYCLES? Here's all the info:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdRgu05HgJlIlrYWyCISyXEh3IJP8MzYlzilt8nkEOTIvOIq1lFbf15vxiYKrVIy9ycupjANBXFrt1k8l4JPv_kpIKUh6OIEAknWIN6gVbLFQ_yR7wwurkdEmg_J6CniLonJ64bWQS56Eq/s1600/IMG_8738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Paperback:</span></b><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0996623809" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Amazon*</span></span></b></a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/241446713/signed-poetry-book-night-cycles-by-beth" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Signed copies</span></span></b></a></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="https://www.createspace.com/5614600" target="_blank">Createspace</a></b> (for readers outside the USA -- this offers the most reasonable shipping rates on paperback copies)</span></span><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></b></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">You can also <b>request </b>NIGHT CYCLES at <b>your local library and bookshop</b>. A great way to support local businesses!</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ebook:</b></span><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01252UPRI" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Kindle</span></b></span></a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/night-cycles-beth-morey/1122402670" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">NOOK</span></b></span></a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/563046" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Smashwords</span></b></span></a></li>
</ul>
*When you purchase the paperback on Amazon, you get the Kindle edition for free! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7326/10430586314_f76d867c87.jpg" /></div>
<br />
<span id="goog_1467365022"></span><span id="goog_1467365023"></span><span id="goog_1467365025"></span><span id="goog_1467365026"></span></div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-62456749431611593902015-07-23T07:32:00.000-07:002015-07-23T07:37:01.120-07:00Introducing THE BOOK OF LAZARUS {Free on Kindle!}<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01288WWKC" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01288WWKC" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiizG08rp1bNF77GpAlBkGqbtG9RfAy7S-hgtyk57DkLoJYfVkgXKXWTH_peqpOT2BApBzZxRL_dZ38V2J8xxgivjfgitDbT63nyBHSjWgfkSvP2eTLjyhQqkRKQp6GPymbh9ieJYqIFHCC/s640/Book+of+Lazarus+smaller.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm not sure that I've talked about it much, but I majored in creative writing in college. And graduated cum laude, with honors, thankyouverymuch.<br />
<br />
But when I graduated, I (and probably most of the people who knew me) wondered what the heck I was going to do with a liberal arts degree in that subject. I thought I wasn't likely very good, so what was the point in trying to write, right? So I pushed writing to the side and tried to pursue more practical avenues. <br />
<br />
Except here I am, lots more years later than I feel comfortable with, writing. Trying to make a career of it. Finding myself more and more on the page -- of my own words, and of others'. It's kind of awesome. Writing is in my blood. I couldn't get rid of it, even when I tried.<br />
<br />
And this week, I made a discovery that is so exciting to me -- I found one of the short stories I wrote during my college days.<br />
<br />
You see, I made zero effort to hang onto any of the things I wrote before 2005. I thought it didn't matter.<br />
<br />
Until it did, until I came back to writing again and again. Until I wished that I'd saved some things.<br />
<br />
But this week -- <i>I found one of them</i>. Accidentally saved, but saved nonetheless. It is my favorite piece of writing from the work I did in college. Safe.<br />
<br />
Whew.<br />
<br />
SO, all that to say . . . I love this short story, and I've published it for Kindle. It's usually $0.99 (because Amazon won't let me make it perpetually free), but <b>today through Monday, July 27, it is FREE</b>. It's a funny story about the resurrection of Lazarus, and I'd love love love for you to check it out. Here's a peek (you can also download this same preview on Goodreads, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25954044-the-book-of-lazarus" target="_blank">here</a>):<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book of Lazarus</span></b></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
a short story </h3>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in; page-break-before: always;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I always thought that when you died, that
was the end, <i>fine</i>,
do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred didrachmas. I was wrong.
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I'm not talking about the afterlife,
either. I've learned -- from very reliable sources, I might add –
that there is something
after we all die, but that's not the issue. The issue is that I
always figured that once you die, that's it. One minute you're here,
the next you're not. What the "next" part is, I was not
sure, but I had always been positive that you die only once. However
horrible or painful it may be, it's a one-time-only deal. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> When I lay dying -- of leprosy, which is
rather unpleasant -- I felt a bit apprehensive about the actual
moment of passing over. My sisters, Mary and Martha, had assured me
that I'd go to Heaven once the Savior did his work and all that, but
that wasn't what I was worried about. I was most concerned with the
physical act of dying. I'd think about getting to Heaven once I was
on the other side.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> So, after months of lying in
excruciating pain, my skin slowly being eaten away, the leprosy
finally won, and I died. The sickness had torn into me with an
alarming appetite, until it was difficult to breathe or even blink.
When I died, my last breath was a long awaited sigh of relief.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I don't remember much from after my
death, it's all become very dim and gray now. One thing I do recall,
though, is how comfortable it was. I didn't care about anything or
anybody. I didn’t even care about myself. It was like sleeping in
the softest feather bed in the world, or taking the longest, most
luxurious bubble bath without the water ever getting cold. Fears and
doubts and notions about my own well-being faded away. There was no
need for worry, everything was clearly under seamless management.
From time to time, hazy figures would pass through my view, as if I
saw them through a fog, but I didn't pay them any attention. I was
warm and cozy, and couldn't feel a thing beyond that. It was quite
lovely. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A slow and lazy distress bubbled up
within me when one of the figures became distinct from the hazy
background. It took me a few moments to even understand or recognize
this new development, and when I did, I heard a vaguely familiar
musical voice.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "Lazarus," it said, "come
out!"</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Come out? In my benumbed and blissful
state, I could barely comprehend the words, or that they were words
at all, much less consider obeying them. Next thing I knew, there
came a rushing sound, and I could feel a pall wind blowing through my
idyllic comfort, sending goose bumps down the arms and chest that I
had nearly forgotten were a part of me. It stopped, and I found
myself lying in a dark place. Dark, but not the previous comfortable
darkness of my limbo state. This felt cold and unwelcoming. I
shivered.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I remained as I was for a few minutes,
hoping to pass back into my earlier oblivion. I thought that if I
ignored it all, perhaps the new developments would fade away like the
trailing end of a storm. Unfortunately, I only became more aware
that I was lying on something hard and cold. My spine began to throb
against the unyielding surface beneath me as a damp chill began to
seep through my skin. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I sat up, feeling rough cloth scratch
against my raw flesh. I couldn't see anything, as if I was
blindfolded. With stiff arms, I reached up and patted my face.
Something was covering it. I tried to pull it away, but it was
wrapped around my head. Slowly, joints cracking in dismay, I found
an end of the cloth tucked behind my ear and unwound it. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I was sitting on a ledge in a small
cave. The ceiling was low and pebbled, but the walls were smooth for
the most part. My sore eyes stared at the dry reeds covering the
sandy floor, at the perfume bottle resting next to the ledge, at the
dirty swatch of linen draped across my hands. Investigating further,
I found that my entire body was enveloped in linen that smelled
vaguely of decay. Something in my mind began to tick, trying to work
out what these things meant, as my heart starting beating faster,
thumping against my ribs. This place seemed uncomfortably familiar.
</span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It came to me. I had been in a place
like this before. When my parents' last child was born dead, they
had wrapped him in cloth and laid him in a small cave near the
grazing fields where I used to take our sheep herd to feed. A cave
like the one I was in. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 130%; margin-bottom: 0.15in; margin-top: 0.15in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A man cleared his throat behind me. I
jerked my head around, muscles beginning to warm into a reality of
dull and pulsing aches. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Jesus!" I yelped, heart
beating too fast. He stood in the large crack that was the entrance
to the cave, eyebrow crooked. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Come on,"
Jesus hissed. "You're screwing up my miracle."</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01288WWKC" target="_blank"><b>Download the full story here</b></a></span>.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(And if you want to leave an honest review on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01288WWKC" target="_blank">Amazon</a> and/or <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25954044-the-book-of-lazarus" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>, I would be so, so grateful!)</span></span> </div>
</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-62342550341629067822015-07-15T06:54:00.001-07:002015-07-15T06:54:20.336-07:00Morning Tea and a Conversation about Containers by Stephanie Durnford<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PJMnZkIfQAT73fsuUm0MWR2-thwrINH3JjvCQHWQKGYkLSTXAJz9iFkmsOB5zN37SY4oqnrl0_N7LyoRRHGSQT-Fhv5_Dm5c7ZupvNKZPS_dN7jCe1WOm_mC37saIQFW55QNunU-Ds_d/s1600/20150505_141652000_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7PJMnZkIfQAT73fsuUm0MWR2-thwrINH3JjvCQHWQKGYkLSTXAJz9iFkmsOB5zN37SY4oqnrl0_N7LyoRRHGSQT-Fhv5_Dm5c7ZupvNKZPS_dN7jCe1WOm_mC37saIQFW55QNunU-Ds_d/s400/20150505_141652000_iOS.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption"><i>photo by Stephanie Durnford</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><i> {A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i></span></span></span> <br />
<br />
I'm sitting here, with my cup of tea and bottle of water. It's <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_501746710"><span class="aQJ">6:30</span></span>
in the morning. I wonder what you're doing right now, as topics and
blankness run through my head. . I pick up my tea, cupping it with both
hands for just a moment; feeling the warmth in the my hand, I inhale
deeply.<br />
<br />
Vanilla. Honey. Other herbs I cannot name nor distinguish in the steam rising from the cup.<br />
<br />
The
heat becomes a bit too stinging on a new paper cut from work yesterday,
so I take a sip and set it down. What might I say to you, if we were
having tea together this morning?<br />
<br />
I would laugh, tell you
how desperately I want a cup of coffee first thing, instead of this
herbal tea and bottle of water. You'd ask me why I don't just make that,
instead.<br />
<br />
I'd get a far away look in my eye, the only way I
have sometimes of telling the truth without fully disappearing, without
it being like talking about another person. I'd tell you that I've
spent a fair amount of the last few decades wandering around mindlessly,
that there have been (undiagnosed) health consequences, and that I
don't want to them to get worse. I would tell you how uncomfortable I've
been feeling in my skin, in my creativity, and while a single cup of
tea and bottle water of won't change either of those - especially
overnight - it's part of a larger shift I'm noticing taking place.<br />
<br />
You'd take a sip of your tea, poke my arm, and ask me, "Vague, much?"<br />
<br />
My
eyes would focus back on the table between us and I'd pick up my own
tea and take a sip, noticing that I'm almost done with it -- that much
closer to coffee! -- and I take a small sip of water. I'm clearly using
these moments of pause to think. I sigh, knowing that this isn't fully
formed, but it's been tickling the edges of my thoughts. I ask if you'd
indulge me some rambling. You take your tea in hand and smile. (This is
not unusual for our conversations, and I know that I am blessed with
your friendship.)<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think it started with <a href="http://saundragoldman.com/lets-practice-together-2015/" target="_blank">#continuouspractice</a>,
the stacking up of days like cords of wood, showing up day after most
every other day; 142 of them at this conversation. That there is
something about setting a container that allows me to find my way back
to what matters. Knowing that there is 20 minutes I will show up and
just put pen to paper, that there is a community around me doing the
same, and that I can do this hard thing. (Anyone who tells you that
showing up every day is easy is trying to sell you something.)<br />
</div>
<div>
Don't
get me wrong. There are days it is easy; there are days it's like
pulling teeth. Sometimes, those turn into the days that pass me by
without thinking, in too much of a frenzy of busyness or the lull of
mindlessness to sit down for 20 minutes. <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I've learned
that showing up to a space, for 20 minutes, where there are no
expectations except to put pen to paper has its refreshing qualities.
There have been snippets of fiction, lots of meandering, but mostly?
Space to show up. Space to be honest. #continuouspractice has become the
container that puts boundaries around the space, but that space is
freedom.</b></span></div>
<div>
<br />
It's given me a bit of taste for that kind of
discipline -- creating a space full of gentleness to see what could be
possible. There are new containers I'm creating in my life, to see what
the freedom within them feels like, if it works. I'm trying to see it as
playful, rather than our traditional understanding of discipline. What
possibilities are there waiting for me?</div>
<div>
<br />
This includes
starting with tea and my bottle of water, rather than straight to
coffee. What might be possible for my health, for feeling more settled
as I start my morning, instead of buzzing with caffeine?</div>
<div>
<br />
I
pause and take a sip, noticing I've finished my tea. You smile, taking a
sip from your own cup. I look at you, tilting my head as I do when I
have a question.<i><b></b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>What container(s) do you have for your own possibilities? </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></i></span></div>
<hr />
<br />
<i>Stephanie is a (infrequent) blogger at <a href="http://visibleandreal.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Visible and Real</a>.
She believes in the power of stories, hot tea and coffee, writing, reading, and
breathing into the hard parts. Somewhere on the east coast, she is a writer,
an explorer, a student, a wife, and mama to four squeaking guinea pigs. </i><br />
<br />
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<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcQQGTjd-ZNTfzaY2h1U7u63qXidoEJhBdNhyphenhyphenMm5DHgKUKVJ4P_JlQbDIlhDzIbKOtobOw6Di183b_lRPhWPdqx4nNDQWDxcf1FY4jX5LbjnAgQ2znwp64C_sDWsbN-DMZjYCkEpPFNjv/s320/20140611_184315735_ios.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<i> </i>
</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-51653251592577595162015-07-08T05:00:00.000-07:002015-07-08T05:00:00.530-07:00here is what i would say by Jamie Bonilla<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>{A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9bio4_60JaYUTKL6-hXL9haIh0w49noplMV8r2yO5xd5TynMfkUPdWoTEthcLiNNC3EMgEP_iLia4ZdsJCsBiH12QMC0iNvM-IP4JoP1gBmXTSlyL_b7dOUZi_VAgQ81GrdIUZmzeH0u/s1600/jamieb+art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU9bio4_60JaYUTKL6-hXL9haIh0w49noplMV8r2yO5xd5TynMfkUPdWoTEthcLiNNC3EMgEP_iLia4ZdsJCsBiH12QMC0iNvM-IP4JoP1gBmXTSlyL_b7dOUZi_VAgQ81GrdIUZmzeH0u/s400/jamieb+art.jpg" width="399" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="right"><td class="tr-caption"><i>art by Jamie Bonilla</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">if i could hold your alive-beating-heart, i would speak</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">in a whisper, cradling gently</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the strength born of grief</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the muscle walls thick and sturdy</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">from the hard work of continuing to live and</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">send nourishment through</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">arteries and veins.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">here is what i would say:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">(and you would have a hard time understanding</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">as the tears flow, breaking up what is left of my windy
voice)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"here is hope</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>she is your mother;
you are hers,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>held and seen in each
others' arms"</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">you would hear:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> ...<i>hope</i>...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> ...<i>mother</i>...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">...<i>see</i>...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and it would be enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<hr />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfCqDccdWjl6ZLGlH9_kfK8-qj1dtVQ54Tp_2GyFtzR0QymjS9EEZrBpl3czogS5KQfbBIOVrz54G23E4ZV_VRfLApXJq-w1UAyePwVHPlRK8ng1_7fAkhQAn6JBnor0vv75fAi7g3ipr/s1600/jamieb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfCqDccdWjl6ZLGlH9_kfK8-qj1dtVQ54Tp_2GyFtzR0QymjS9EEZrBpl3czogS5KQfbBIOVrz54G23E4ZV_VRfLApXJq-w1UAyePwVHPlRK8ng1_7fAkhQAn6JBnor0vv75fAi7g3ipr/s320/jamieb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>jamie bonilla</b> is a found poet and artist, who is very herselfish. she lives in southern california with her husband and two boys, and a dog she’s learning to love. she is never happier than when she gets to be monkish and solitary with her cup of the-best-chai-in-the-world or holed up in her studio, flinging paint and finding poetry. you can find her online at <a href="http://jamiebonilla.com/">jamiebonilla.com</a> where she blogs about art, spirituality, and other parts of humanness, like the body and personality; and she is quite active on instagram as <a href="https://instagram.com/therustyartichoke/">therustyartichoke</a>.</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-77920211420961861462015-07-04T10:59:00.002-07:002015-07-04T11:07:09.712-07:00Life Lately {BABY Edition!}<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So this happened:<br />
<br />
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<br />
Our new little guy, Eamon (pronounced AY-mon), arrived in May after a whirlwind two hour (!!) drug-free (!!!!) labor, weighing 9 lbs 2 oz (!!!!!). And . . . he's perfect. Just like every baby, of course, except more so for us because he's <i>ours</i>.<br />
<br />
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<br />
It's strange for me to remember that until my mid-pregnancy ultrasound I thought that he was a girl. It was hard for me to wrap my head around his boy-ness at first, especially having <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/search/label/eve" target="_blank">lost a girl</a> in my first pregnancy. I was so happy for a healthy little guy, but simultaneously grieving the daughter who died and the future daughter I'd hoped to raise but now never would, because we don't plan to try for any more children. I felt quite guilty about the whole thing.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">But now that he's here . . . all I can think is: <i>Of course. Of course it was him. It was always him, always going to be him in our family, from the beginning of time</i>. And I'm so glad. I wouldn't trade him for anything.</span> </span></b><br />
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<br />
And I have to say -- and I hope that this isn't <i>too </i>superficial of me -- that I adore having a baby who has dark, curly hair like his mama. Of course, I also adore that our oldest son, Jacob, is an angelically-colored blonde-haired, blue-eyed bundle of sass. <b>But to have a baby that look like me? Especially after the other baby we had that looked more like me died? It's really precious to me.</b> When he yawns, he looks exactly like I did when I was a newborn. I think that's cool.<br />
<br />
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<br />
And speaking of our older dude . . . Jacob is just in. love. with his little brother. I wasn't prepared for that. Instead, I'd braced myself for jealousy and requests that Eamon kindly diminish back into my uterus. But nope. Jacob loves him! "He's cute!" he says of his younger brother. "He knows me!" And best of all: "I love you, Eamon." His delight delights me.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Getting used to parenting two small people under the age of three on little sleep has been challenging, of course. The heat wave we're having doesn't help (hello, 100+ degree temperatures when we live in a non-air-conditioned house!). But slowly I'm finding a good rhythm. I've taken the boys out to playgrounds and splash pads on my own a bunch of times now, and with each trip I get more confident, more sure of myself.<br />
<br />
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<br />
And look! I've been breastfeeding in public! Uncovered! And it's okay! With Jacob I never did this, always covered up, mostly not out of fear of offending anyone but because it felt too vulnerable to breastfeed uncovered. But now? I just really don't have the energy to care, or to wrestle with a cover. A cover makes feedings so much harder, and anyway, it would be pointless given the amount I have to run after Jacob with a baby on my boob. So that's cool. <br />
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<br />
I have to admit . . . I'm so glad to not be pregnant anymore. Which saddens me, because I <i>loved</i> being pregnant the first two times around, even with the tragedy of stillbirth touching it all. It just felt so holy to me. But this pregnancy was much harder physically -- I was sick a <i>lot </i>more, and I had polyhydramnios, excessive fluid, on top of regular contractions that started around 32 weeks and never stopped, not to mention horrible pelvic pain. By the end, walking brought on debilitating pains . . . that, um, never started my labor. When my O.B. broke my water at 39 weeks, I was dilated to 5 cm out of 10, and having contractions every 10-15 minutes . . . but wasn't in labor. All that to say, I'm so grateful for my children, and also glad to be not-pregnant. Three babies in four years is a lot, and my body (not to mention my mind and emotions) is done. I'm ready to rest and heal. <br />
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<br />
I have to say, though, that it's weird, knowing that Eamon is our last baby. A very important chapter in my life is closing, and while my husband and I agree that it's the right thing for us, and while I'm looking forward to the next chapter, it does feel bittersweet and odd. Still, I'm excited to rediscover who I am once again (it's funny and beautiful and strange how each birth is a portal toward the next iteration of my self), and to enjoy time with my family. And I'm especially looking forward to a lot more of these sweet smiles:<br />
<br />
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<br />
And so -- onward!<br />
<br />
<i>{And, in case you've missed them, some wonderful guest writers have been sharing their words here on the blog. You can find their posts (plus all other past guest posts)<b> <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/search/label/guest%20post" target="_blank">here</a></b>!}</i></div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-63988294499806010112015-07-01T03:00:00.000-07:002015-07-01T03:00:04.703-07:00The Power of Story by Cynthia Lee<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>art and images by <a href="https://instagram.com/iamjustcynthia/" target="_blank">Cynthia Lee</a></i></span></span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i></span></span><br />
<br />
So far, 2015 has been a year of intentional wandering as I have chosen to push pause on the external voices that I had allowed to guide me in the past. Though I honor the good that has been brought into my life via the words of kindred spirits, I felt that it was time to be my own guide, to listen to my own wisdom, to find my way in the world. <br />
<br />
I thought this year would brings huge adventures as I carved out time for myself. It's not to say that life has been boring but it certainly has felt more aimless than I intended. There is something missing. It feels as though I have forgotten something. At times I have longed to go back to my guides, to being led ever so gently, to whispers of, <i>this might be a good way</i>.<br />
<br />
These words were gifted to me today: <b><i>I just don't believe in the system anymore.</i></b><br />
<br />
Yes. yes. I stopped believing in systems a long time ago.<br />
<br />
Long before I rejected the school system for my own children, I identified the farce it was in my own life. I may have played along but I knew full well it was all a game to play. It wasn't real. I didn't need the classroom, the tests, and grades to motivate my learning. I was and am insatiably curious. <br />
<br />
After years of playing a role in the perpetuation of thin belief, words began to echo in my mind as I marched in and out of the church building each Sunday: <i>there has to be more to it than this</i>. Thus began the unraveling of another system. I was tired of pouring energy into the facade of community, of family, of support. The empty promises piled up around me and became the staircase of rubble that I used to climb out. The people of God let me down long before the word of God became a fairytale I could no longer believe in.<br />
<br />
Systems exist everywhere. A quick internet search will find articles, books, and workshops for blogging, painting, internet marketing, journaling, home management, parenting, clean eating, fitness, meditation. You name it and someone is offering a system for it. <br />
<br />
Call me jaded but I just don't believe in it. <br />
<br />
What do I believe in?<br />
<br />
Ah. Here is the missing piece. Here is what I forgot as I took off on my own. <br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I believe in the power of story.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifxEgYsgO8xuMt7cLOEGQWnOCOBfRObAjyAT8Q_jeCjIqpVGN-radC2VQRWqFtiHiqyMEzHDJLsMocsWkrXoqHGqFC9MHU-E8dOWTnPaE2xaxcCn63MDHkmvh7mFQmNPgKyxxxXuvNFAnG/s1600/power+of+story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifxEgYsgO8xuMt7cLOEGQWnOCOBfRObAjyAT8Q_jeCjIqpVGN-radC2VQRWqFtiHiqyMEzHDJLsMocsWkrXoqHGqFC9MHU-E8dOWTnPaE2xaxcCn63MDHkmvh7mFQmNPgKyxxxXuvNFAnG/s400/power+of+story.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
This statement came about a while ago after purposefully considering what beliefs I had left behind and what I was left with. I knew that I believed in beauty, in truth, in authentic experience, in good overcoming evil and when I considered where I encountered such things, it was in the act of story. Whether in a book, movie, musical, play, song, dance performance, or in the shared conversation over a cup of coffee, I love story. I believe that story has the power to change lives for better and for worse. I want to be a storyteller and a story holder. I want to speak and I want to listen. Most of all, I want to allow story to move through me in expression. <br />
<br />
So this is what has been missing this year while out wandering the wilds of my soul. I have forgotten to tell my story. I may have even forgotten how to tell my story. I might have let myself believe that it wasn't important or that it was self serving. Already, it felt selfish to be focusing so intently upon my own soul journey. I have been conditioned to serve the journeys of others as my primary and most important work. It was a real struggle to say aloud, "I cannot give to you right now." Yet, these are words that I had to say, that I still have to hold onto. <br />
<br />
Today, half-way through the year, I am reminding myself that this story is important and my words are important. If I don't tell my story, someone else will tell it for me. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtL3thj9C2WEfF95OJaGYpQvwWXGoV4Kr_g2OETY2y_1zPTSxYMYvCJvLFBNjgOLBLOx-F-kQAnBz2gss3s3uFkraQufY3HpF63z74PUnfvaEyXAuY_qxLCMS_2gr6RtPc671z3eJb6y8Q/s1600/tell+your+story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtL3thj9C2WEfF95OJaGYpQvwWXGoV4Kr_g2OETY2y_1zPTSxYMYvCJvLFBNjgOLBLOx-F-kQAnBz2gss3s3uFkraQufY3HpF63z74PUnfvaEyXAuY_qxLCMS_2gr6RtPc671z3eJb6y8Q/s640/tell+your+story.jpg" width="447" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">As important as it is to take this journey, it is as equally important to record it, to speak it, to give voice to the getting lost and being found. I begin today. </span></b><br />
</div>
<hr />
<br /><i>Cynthia Lee is an artist, thinker, feminist, unschooler, reader, storyteller, story-listener, mother soul, wife and lover, and spirit uncaged. Follow her on <a href="https://instagram.com/iamjustcynthia/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>.</i><br />
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-63799732579888581392015-06-24T03:31:00.000-07:002015-06-24T03:31:00.346-07:00The Painting & Its Story by Deana Ruston<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/129557527/fine-art-print-8-x-12-giclee-mothers-day?ref=shop_home_active_7" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.etsy.com/listing/129557527/fine-art-print-8-x-12-giclee-mothers-day?ref=shop_home_active_7" border="0" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8242/8655585682_2b94141c7b.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>{A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Several months ago I
purchased <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/129557527/fine-art-print-8-x-12-giclee-mothers-day?ref=shop_home_active_7" target="_blank">this painting</a> from Beth. She’s been a friend for a few years
and this painting spoke to me. I just had to have it. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">My grandfather passed away
in my first year of college and that led me to study grief and
bereavement counseling. I was born at 25 weeks' gestation and knowing
what could’ve been for my family and my life I began to have an interest
in helping families who are experiencing pregnancy and infant loss. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The moment I saw this painting it spoke to me. I needed it. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">To me the painting
symbolizes the rainbow baby growing inside a mama who has experienced
pregnancy and infant loss. One in four mothers experience pregnancy and
infant loss- this can be through miscarriage (a baby born before 20
weeks gestation), stillbirth (a baby born not alive after 20 weeks
gestation), preterm birth (a baby born before 37 weeks gestation) or
infant death. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">A rainbow baby is a baby
born following the death of a child. They are a referred to as a
“rainbow baby” because they are the rainbow that appears after the storm
(loss) of the baby. While they never replace the child that died, they
are something special in the midst of sorrow. </span></span></b></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">With my interest in
pregnancy and infant loss, and desire to help these families, this
painting brings me inspiration to continue the work I do. I am honored
to walk along side these families as they journey through their sadness,
fear and sorrow. Having a rainbow baby brings along with it anxiety and
doubt that baby will be healthy. It is an experience like no other- in a
time which should be filled with waiting and excitement is now painted
with fear and worry. </span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">A few weeks ago, I took the
painting to get custom framed at my local Michael’s craft store. A young
woman about mid to late 20’s assisted me in finding the perfect frame.
As I was in the process of choosing a frame I asked if she wanted to
know the story behind the painting. She said she would love to. I told
her that my friend Beth had painted it. Beth is a mother who experienced
pregnancy and infant loss when her daughter <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/search/label/eve" target="_blank">Eve</a> was born still. When I
purchased the painting Beth was pregnant with her rainbow baby. I
explained what a rainbow baby was and said that I am a grief and
bereavement counseling student and that I work with families
experiencing pregnancy and infant loss. She said that the story of the
painting was so lovely. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I paid for my order, she
paused and said ‘you probably hear a lot of people’s personal stories --
but I had a rainbow baby too.” Tears rolled down her face as she told me
this and I asked if I could give her a hug. I told her that her babies
are loved and remembered. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">This single moment I shared
with her brought me inspiration, hope, love and a multitude of other
emotions. It was such a special time -- one I will cherish forever. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">It also taught me that you
never know where and how you will impact someone’s life. Everything
makes a difference -- make it a positive one. It also reminds me that
pregnancy and infant loss touches the lives of everyone -- even if you
don’t know it. </span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I picked up my painting this week the same woman was working. As soon as I approached the counter, she said she remembered me and my special painting. I smiled and thanked her. </span></span></div>
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</div>
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<hr />
<br />
<i>Deana Ruston, a 23 year old from London, Ontario, Canada (about 2 hours
from Toronto), studies grief and bereavement counselling at King's
University College at Western University. She has an interest in
pregnancy and infant loss, loves to bake, cook and volunteer. Born at 25
weeks gestation, she identifies as a fighter. She won't back down. </i><br />
<br />
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-91413104776151424572015-06-17T06:00:00.000-07:002015-06-23T11:32:51.055-07:00The Beautiful Mystery of the Creatrix by Dejah Beauchamp<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3087/3131724374_1828dee693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3087/3131724374_1828dee693.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rafa2010/3131724374/in/photolist-5LJUxQ-bfpmHp-57hHm6-jR9gc-nFfDeh-nWQ1Yn-bUYZgn-8w5ywj-dWZMNv-czrHP1-4bbn1h-etnNA-drN5id-pGaRx-6jV3u7-pGHUq-3KdKsG-5T8YJB-6jQRg2-p8uKt1-rhdCoN-7naw4g-deweTc-5FGCqv-7Ght4z-5n2M1U-czjoL1-9s8Aud-3o7GEg-7PQxmR-7mnR65-5oMnpE-8XmKmd-kjwqSt-68Q45M-5kzbtd-83T1Le-fGDp8s-djKy-f9o9TQ-7kbbbj-anrkZg-9p9xpj-aahDwv-bSm4Dc-xhP6V-7z6ymz-AwHaw-ofGgZG-9gb48m" target="_blank">image</a> by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rafa2010/" target="_blank">Rafael Edwards</a> via Creative Commons</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<i>{A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i><br />
<br />
I don’t know why the word
creatrix isn’t used more often. I think it’s a beautiful word for a
woman.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A creatrix has a rich and fulfilling life, full of varied
encounters and adventures. She can’t be molded, branded, or truly known.
There’s always a bit of mystery about her. Her most important aspect?
She creates, of course. She makes things. They can be physical things,
or metaphysical things, or things for which we don’t even have a word
yet. </b></span><br />
<br />
Who are these creatrices? Well...us. Me. You.<br />
<br />
If you’ve gotten your hands messy in paint, clay, mud, dug deep into your Self and sparked something true and vital...<br />
<br />
If you’ve thought something brilliant and then worked to bring that thought to fruition...<br />
<br />
If you’re a mother, if you’ve called forth little parts of your flesh and soul into beautiful being...<br />
<br />
If you’ve ever sung, quietly or loudly, hummed a tune, written a poem, written a word...<br />
<br />
If you’ve ever spoken up for someone, stood up for what’s good in this world, fashioned a moment of truthfulness...<br />
<br />
See? You’re a creatrix too.<br />
<br />
I use <i>creatrix</i>
as my own “inner” description of myself. I came upon the word when I
was going through a deep depression, questioning my role as a woman, as
an individual, as a human being. I was desperately trying to figure out
my place in the world. I thought I was too old to have an identity
crisis (I mean, shouldn’t I have my shit together by now?). <br />
<br />
None
of the labels I’d given myself really seemed to fit me anymore. Nothing
described me completely. Wife, mother—those words can often come with
baggage that dims our true being, puts us in a nice socially acceptable,
pre-defined box. Even when I found my writing voice and realized Yes,
this is it! I was still unsure about calling myself a writer. <br />
<br />
But
creatrix...that’s a powerful word. An embraceable word. There’s
something about choosing a new word to describe yourself that causes a
beneficial shift in your psyche.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When I began to think of myself
as a creative force, unlimited and open to everything, I really felt
alive.</b></span><br />
<br />
My writing benefited because I was no longer hindered by a
constant inner critic, or worries about what other people might think of
me if I wrote honestly. My relationships benefited because I was able
to speak from an authentic place. Isn’t that what we’re all striving
for? To live authentically, honestly, to speak up for ourselves, and to
create beauty?<br />
<br />
So, not creator:<b> creatrix</b>. I’m reclaiming the feminine ending for this one (I’m a sucker for fancy Latin words). <br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Are you a creatrix too? What is it that you love to create? </b><br />
<br />
<hr />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1soAIVxppR0ssq1AbSaa-vqSgOnE3c63G2ChYtLnqCPDuIT00ulHl-KJnLGZFJH4jK-83RhCAXiv2vNzV-QH6zsh1ImzkSivGDnvKKK9Jegvi8msDlbQ1_b8jryXHT_1DyAikxsEgNIWK/s1600/Dejah+Beauchamp+bio+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1soAIVxppR0ssq1AbSaa-vqSgOnE3c63G2ChYtLnqCPDuIT00ulHl-KJnLGZFJH4jK-83RhCAXiv2vNzV-QH6zsh1ImzkSivGDnvKKK9Jegvi8msDlbQ1_b8jryXHT_1DyAikxsEgNIWK/s200/Dejah+Beauchamp+bio+copy.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<i>Dejah
Beauchamp doesn't know the answer to anything, but she's perfectly
content to wander aimlessly through life with the hope that she'll end
up in the right place. She has written for elephant journal, Be You Media Group, and The Tattooed Buddha, and has had poetry published in Pilgrimage Magazine and Vine Leaves Literary Journal. She lives in New England, raising two sons and writing about all kinds of things on her <a href="http://dejahwrites.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">blog</a>. You can also connect with Dejah on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dejahwriteswords" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, or <a href="https://twitter.com/dejah_writes" target="_blank">Twitter</a>.</i>
</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-56439780426854139722015-06-03T06:00:00.000-07:002015-06-03T06:00:01.126-07:00I'm Not Sad by Deana Ruston<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/gcfairch/4282937895/" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.flickr.com/photos/gcfairch/4282937895/" border="0" src="https://farm3.staticflickr.com/2752/4282937895_d0b29abee7.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/gcfairch/4282937895/" target="_blank">image</a> by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/gcfairch/" target="_blank">Geoffrey Fairchild</a> via a Creative Commons license</span> </i></div>
<br />
<i>{A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">On December 27th, 2014 I was
diagnosed with Stage IIB thyroid cancer. It had also spread to my lymph
nodes- but I felt fine before. Didn’t have a clue, rhyme or reason to
think it would happen to me. It was found through a spine MRI as I have
scoliosis- so it was a shock to say the least. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">In February, I had my surgery and everything is now back to normal. I’m me -- how I was before all this happened. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">There’s no doubt that with
this news and experiences I’d faced -- I’m encountering a multitude of
emotions. Happy, sad, angry, frustrated. No one wants to be told they
have cancer- that’s crazy! I never thought at 22 it would be me! So
through this time I’ve been riding the waves that each experience and
trial brought me, not one by one but sometimes many at once would come
crashing down.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">There’s one thing though.
Maybe it’s part of our human instinct -- I don’t know. But maybe it’s
because we’re trying to comfort one another, maybe we’re pushing our
feelings onto the person who just got diagnosed when we really don’t
know what to say. . . No idea.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">People have been assuming that I’m sad. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I guess people think, <i>oh she got cancer . . . she’s sad. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was at a visitation
following the death of a distant family member a few days after
diagnosis, and another family member had heard the news. She started off
saying, “oh you must not be very good.” I was completely caught off
guard; no hello, she just assumed how I felt. I wasn’t happy -- not with
her, I mean. I was totally fine before she said anything. But her
assuming how I felt? Hmmmm, no, not okay. I mustered up a, "I'm actually
doing pretty well, thanks." And carried on. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">From this cancer experience
I’ve learned so much. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. For real. I’m
not sad I got cancer. It’s made me a stronger, better person. <b>I’ve
always been a fighter, why back down now. Everyone has their own
troubles, stories and struggles. We all get through them. </b>At first I
thought it was strange I wasn’t sad. To be honest, I thought it was
almost wrong. Everyone else was sad. Why wasn’t I? I study grief counseling so I know everyone’s experience is going to be different. I
had to remind myself of that. I know grief doesn’t come with step by
step instructions -- who am I kidding? </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">This isn’t all bad. So much
good can come from it. When others try and define our feelings for us,
they try to place us in the box or their template. That doesn’t work for
me and probably doesn’t work for you either. Our lives are all
individualized and unique. No persons story is the same as another. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s the amazing thing.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don’t let someone else
define how you feel. It’s okay to feel how you do. Everyone’s experience
is different. That’s okay. And we could even learn a little something
from one another. </span></span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next time you talk to someone, ask them how they are, let them tell the story.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<hr style="text-align: left;" />
<br />
<i>Deana Ruston, a 23 year old from London, Ontario, Canada (about 2 hours
from Toronto), studies grief and bereavement counselling at King's
University College at Western University. She has an interest in
pregnancy and infant loss, loves to bake, cook and volunteer. Born at 25
weeks gestation, she identifies as a fighter. She won't back down. </i><br />
<br />
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-64281637477271313852015-05-29T11:02:00.000-07:002015-05-29T11:02:10.532-07:00The Curse of Superwoman by Cassie Hart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/eyesore9/8717901861/" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.flickr.com/photos/eyesore9/8717901861/" border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7321/8717901861_b843a6e2c2.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/eyesore9/8717901861/" target="_blank">image</a> by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/eyesore9/" target="_blank">Angus</a> via a Creative Commons license</i></span></div>
<br />
<i>{A
note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some
delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and birth and
adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have struggled with many things in my life. I have
struggled with depression, with suspected bi-polar, with self-harm, with
recovering from a string of unwanted male attention in various horrible forms,
with PTSD, with a lack of self-confidence, with motherhood, with balance, oh,
so much with balance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But more than anything else, I have struggled with being
Superwoman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It didn’t begin with being Superwoman of course. It began
with being a Good Girl. With living up to expectations. With an uncanny
awareness for the feelings of others and a desire to help. A crushing sense of
responsibility. For everything. I don’t think it’s always a ‘girl’ thing, but I
know more woman than not who feel this. Like they have so much to live up to.
Like they must take care of things or the important stuff will fall through the
cracks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so we do what needs to be done. And we put other peoples
needs ahead of our own. And somewhere along the line, some of us get lost.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got lost. I drowned in the needs of everyone else until it
got to the point where I wasn’t sure what I was doing because it was expected
of me, and what<i> </i>I was doing because
it was the real me. Have you ever felt like that? Like you’re not even sure if
you’re a real person anymore, that maybe you are only the sum of expectations
placed upon you by others and yourself?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, that was how I felt. I was ‘kind’ and ‘creative’ and ‘generous’,
I was ‘Superwoman’ and ‘amazing’ and ‘wonderful’. But inside, I felt like a
doormat, like a slave, like there was nothing left of me, and I couldn’t even
be sure if I was any of those things people thought of me because it was me, or
just because that was what was expected. I was living from a place of
imbalance, not from a place of love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not love from others. I am well loved by everyone around
me. I am cherished. I am worried for. At some point all the expectations I felt
placed on me were internalized. No longer driven by others, but driven by me,
by this ridiculous image I felt I needed to live up to. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Superwoman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>But I’m not. I struggle. I breathe and bleed and cry. I
laugh and smile and dream. I am human, and I AM amazing, and sometimes I do
carry more than I have the strength for. And that is the wonderful thing about
being human. We can overcome so much. But, it wasn’t until I realized that I
wasn’t giving myself the same love that I gave to others, that I could really
start to acknowledge that. I may not be Superwoman, but I am awesome, and I
deserve love, deserve to be a priority, deserve to know myself and feel whole
and like I belong in the world. Just like everyone else. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not lost any more, at least, not entirely. I’m on a
journey to rediscovering who I am. Creating my own labels, discarding the ones
I had pinned on myself when they no longer apply. But more than anything,
trying to make choices out of love – for others, yes, but for myself as well.
Because when I make choices from a place of love, I am free.</div>
<br />
<hr style="text-align: left;" />
<br />
<i>Cassie Hart is a home-schooling mother to three beautiful girls, and
wears far too many hats for her small wardrobe. She writes speculative
fiction under the name J.C. Hart and her blog can be found <b><a href="http://just-cassie.com/" target="_blank">here</a></b>. </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjkFxJJyuuSVv06wA3VjEv1ls0nROomgVkb6OLPW-D4i1FQ2pxE6xdS2Wunf9_vgrT10NqjzAix3e9pFQscLXLXOGxMdg_XPG6TWK7ZwsVvvSaS4RflCjg6Y224ZkVYb_KLG_N9m9zirC/s1600/Cassie+Hart.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjkFxJJyuuSVv06wA3VjEv1ls0nROomgVkb6OLPW-D4i1FQ2pxE6xdS2Wunf9_vgrT10NqjzAix3e9pFQscLXLXOGxMdg_XPG6TWK7ZwsVvvSaS4RflCjg6Y224ZkVYb_KLG_N9m9zirC/s320/Cassie+Hart.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-33657643711332249602015-05-06T05:00:00.000-07:002015-05-06T05:00:09.129-07:00Letter To A Restless Heart by Jamie Wright Bagley <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7790/16752527673_34348665d1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7790/16752527673_34348665d1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>image by <a href="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7790/16752527673_34348665d1.jpg" target="_blank">Jamie Wright Bagley</a></i></span></div>
<br />
<i>{A note from Beth: from May through August 2015, I am featuring some delicious guest writers here on the blog as I recover from pregnancy and adjust to our new family rhythms (find more details <a href="http://www.bethmorey.com/2015/05/when-planning-is-done-and-time-is.html" target="_blank">here</a>). Enjoy!}</i><br />
<br />
Dear Restless Heart,<br />
<br />
I hear you’re not feeling up to things lately. As a pioneer on the prairie of dreams, I know you have given a lot, but now you are worn, and more than a bit panicked. I know what that’s like. Sometimes it feels like the trail is going nowhere, and the dreams are growing cold. What if there is no second wind?<br />
<br />
It is going to happen, though. Have courage, friend. Trust the whole process. You have set out on the track, carrying your dreams into a wide expanse of the plains of possibility. There are prospects and there are risks. Both of those things are scary: success or failure, and all the what-ifs it takes to get there. I know, because I, too, am guiding my wagon through the unknown right now. Sometimes it feels like it would be easier to turn back the clock and toss the original idea away before it could be formed into a dream.<br />
<br />
We are not turning back, you and I. No, we are not! Let me remind you of something: Each road we travel has different challenges. When the land is smooth, oh, you know it’s a wonderful adventure because you are going fast and can see so far in front of you. When the path is rugged, nobody expects their wagon wheels to get caught in a rut, but sometimes it happens. Getting trapped like that can be jarring. It’s then a little voice inside says “Give up! Give up and go home!”<br />
<br />
I don’t advise that option today, dear one. You have more mettle than that. This wagon you are steering, your dream, is meant to be. Trust the whole process. The journey is made from all kinds of terrain. Embrace the beauty of differing scenery.<br />
<br />
The other thing I want you to remember is that your wagon is one-of-a-kind. If you share the road with a larger vehicle, a faster vehicle, or one that seems more beautiful, let me remind you that each one carries its own unique and important dream, and not one of them got where they are without help. Not one. Where does your help come from? This is the question you must ask yourself now. The other wagons are not meant for you. Stick with yours, in all its weathered glory.<br />
<br />
Are you tired of all the jolting and clattering? There will be smooth paths again.<br />
<br />
Are you anxious for adventure? The prairie has seen its share of storms.<br />
<br />
Be in the moment, whatever it is. Love your surroundings. Say a blessing over every part of your wagon and call it good. Call it beautiful. Call it holy, because it bears your essence; all the rare pieces of your self instilled even before birth. Nothing outside of you gets to determine the worth of your dream. Embrace it. Care for it. And keep your chin up.<br />
<br />
Finally, remember who crafted your wagon. You, and the spirit of creation: the inspiration behind every trek. Your wagon is your gift and your charge to care for. You get to steer it, and you get to name it.<br />
<br />
Give it a good name. Give it a name that reminds you always of who you are, how far you’ve come, and how much your presence matters to the world you journey through. Things are different because of your dream. Things are better because of your dream. And once you make a habit of rehearsing these truths, you’ll remember why you do this at all: it is not to be the best; it is to be your best. And only you and the spirit of creation get to determine what that is.<br />
<br />
May you always enjoy the ride!<br />
<br />
Much love,<br />
Someone-who-believes-in-you<br />
<br />
P.S. Go easier on yourself than you think you should. You really do have the time.<br />
<br />
<hr style="text-align: left;" />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAAd563sdrzq6nZ4iNC6MI0QN9kBg33mtxLClyI3M88ymj0vnhGS5toiS4hE4FFlP77fJRyUHm4SnFfzgXDFtdDkAJ0h3KT-mCwJFLf6IKonleLvizh10_sgNWMfS-ZvhNOZ6icMOxsUP/s1600/authorphoto112514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAAd563sdrzq6nZ4iNC6MI0QN9kBg33mtxLClyI3M88ymj0vnhGS5toiS4hE4FFlP77fJRyUHm4SnFfzgXDFtdDkAJ0h3KT-mCwJFLf6IKonleLvizh10_sgNWMfS-ZvhNOZ6icMOxsUP/s200/authorphoto112514.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<i>Jamie values connection, energy, empathy, freedom, and happiness. She believes in the lifelong pursuit of dreams, and will write poetry and song and everything else to that end. Flowers delight her and trees are her people. She’d love to bond with you over tea and pie, but will probably substitute the small talk with awkward jokes and deep topics. You’ll find her writing her heart out at <a href="http://jamiewrightbagley.com/">jamiewrightbagley.com</a>, and <a href="https://twitter.com/jamiebrightley" target="_blank">@jamiebrightley</a> on Twitter.</i>
</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-60010116738917830192015-05-04T16:05:00.001-07:002015-05-04T16:14:24.647-07:00When the Planning is Done and the Time is {Nearly} Now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Today, as I sat in the exam room at my obstetrician's office, an amazing/terrifying/thrilling thought struck me -- <i>this is is it. My last appointment of this pregnancy </i>(and, as we're not planning on having any more children, perhaps ever). There are no more appointments, no more preparations to make. All the baby clothes are washed and sorted, the bassinet is set up, all the necessary bags are packed.<br />
<br />
It's funny. Not ha-ha funny, but hard-and-weird funny: even though this pregnancy has felt very redeeming in terms of fear, even though I've been able to hold onto hope and dip a little deeper back into naive innocence more better throughout these last nine months far better than I could with my two year old's pregnancy -- even so, writing the words I am writing here feels like a gamble. Because the worst could still happen (again) and this post and those clothes and that bassinet and just everything will turn from a joy into searing pain.<br />
<br />
I guess that's pregnancy after a loss for you. Even when it's years later, when it's the second pregnancy down the line. Even when you've been doing really well. <br />
<br />
And yet, at the same time, I am so excited and beyond ready to meet this new little person who is, as I write this, attempting to pry my ribs apart with his feet. I try to avoid dwelling in anxiety as much as possible, because really, at this point, there's not much I can do about all those horrible "what if's." <br />
<br />
I think this baby is going to look like his siblings. But I'm hoping for a dark-and-curly-haired little dude, someone to carry on his mama's wild mane. I've had terrible reflux this pregnancy, which is new for me -- anyone care to make any guesses on hair levels? :)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
After baby arrives, I'm planning on (and psyched about!) being totally swept up in tiny-person-land, consumed with caring for the two small boys I'm so lucky to be mama to. Which means that there won't be much time for blogging. While I do hope to get a post or two in sometime (I mean, it'd be lame of me to write so much about pregnancy and not introduce you to our latest love), I'm trying to be generous with expectations and let all non-mama things go for now, including blogging. I'm sure this will prove easier said than done. <br />
<br />
In the meantime, I've had some very generous, beautiful souls (who also happen to be incredibly talented writers) offer to save this blog space from getting too dusty. The first guest blog post will go up this week, on Wednesday, and a
new guest post will be posted just about every week after that through
August.<br />
<br />
I'm so thankful for these writers, and for their creations -- not just the words they will offer here, but for what they offer the world everyday with their hands and makings and love. I hope that you will be as inspired by them as I am.<br />
<br />
Thanks for hanging in there with me through this rather quiet writing season. There haven't been many words wanting to spill out of me into this space, but there has been a deep sense of shifting, sorting, and (perhaps) finding. I know that I won't be the same person I was on the other side of this birth, or this pregnancy. I'm just as excited to meet that new woman as I am to meet this sweet baby.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm hanging on, epic belly and all, and enjoying the wondering.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8826/17161722400_d6c1c9ee64.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8826/17161722400_d6c1c9ee64.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>yowzer. 38 weeks!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-71323728249040050282015-04-23T12:37:00.001-07:002015-04-23T12:42:29.715-07:00When Birth is a Portal to Your Self<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
When my son was born, I felt rocked by the event. Traumatized, even. But it was a confusing sort of trauma, because there was nothing I could point to (thank goodness) and say, "That. That there is what caused these strange feelings."<br />
<br />
For a while I chalked the dissonance up to the fact that he was born just ten months after his sister's stillbirth. But that explanation never felt complete, or completely true. Partially true, sure, but it was never the whole of it.<br />
<br />
And then this new baby, the one still nestled within me, came along, and I suddenly felt like I was living on the side of a steep mountain, and everything was sliding down around me. At first I resisted this, even resented it, but the farther I've gotten in this pregnancy, the more I've realized that this is not a random, senseless state, but a time of necessary shedding, of decluttering to make room for this new little life.<br />
<br />
In the last few weeks, it hit me.<br />
<br />
Here it was. Here at last, perhaps, the source of the sensation of trauma at my first son's birth. I was shedding then, too. When I gave birth to him, I gave birth to me, too. The woman who I was, that skin sloughed off, some at once and some not for awhile, but the process had its inception in his gestation and birthing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
I don't know if I'm saying this right.<br />
<br />
But how can I say it? What is it about birthing that is such a portal, such a rite of passage, unlike anything else I can think of except death? <br />
<br />
I've gone through so many gateways, so many checkpoints in my life: my own birth, puberty, my entry into adulthood, marriage, the eating disorder. But none of them has been as transforming as birth.<br />
<br />
There is a certain, special, weird sort of alchemy there, and once your baby's crowning out of you, no matter how it happens or what comes before or after -- once you've pushed forth that tiny being, your own being is irrevocably churned up, and all that's left is to see what comes clear as the thrashing waters settle.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of course, I experienced this with my girl's stillbirth, too. How her death and birth were a portal, how I died with her, how I birthed my own new self with her still form.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I thought that experience was singular to tragedy. To the births where the room is silent, or the births that happen far too early, at home in your bathroom. Or the births where the adoption falls through, or the hopeful treatment that never leads to fertility. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I never expected to feel that in a live, healthy, normal (for lack of a better word) birth. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So now I am waiting. Waiting for this second son's arrival, of course. But waiting, too, for my own arrival. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I am so tired from all this shedding. I am eager to know what's been composting, what will push forth out of the loam of my soul in a week, or a month, or ten months, or more. What's waiting for me on the other side of this portal of our lovemaking, of our son's coming-into-life? I want to see if expecting the changes in my self will help with that odd sense of displacement I felt at my first son's arrival.</div>
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<i>The only way out is through</i>, I keep telling myself. <i> The only way out is through</i>.</div>
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And so, I wait, and rest, and ponder, and choose hope as I can.</div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-90958139034854282232015-04-09T11:17:00.001-07:002015-04-09T11:19:45.587-07:00All I Can Do is Hope {The Final Weeks of Pregnancy after Loss}<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>33 weeks at our maternity photo session with MDK Photography</i></td></tr>
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Sometimes I wonder if I should hold myself back, if I should stop expecting so much.<br />
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After all, with our daughter, I expected life, and we got death. <br />
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But then, with our first son, I braced for death and found my arms filled with the sweetest, squirming life.<br />
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<b>And anyway, I can't help it. In these moments when doubt arises, I just can't. I can't let myself go there. I can't/won't/can't let fear rob me of this sacred time of waiting and hoping and growing.</b><br />
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Things are challenging enough without dipping into that fear. Because this pregnancy has been the most physically difficult and uncomfortable of the three. Nothing bad or unhealthy, no problematic diagnoses, just feeling painfully huge and kind of awful. This third trimester has crawled by as I struggle with this reality and try to reconcile it with the beautiful gift that I know pregnancy to be, all while taking care of one amazing little boy who doesn't understand why his mama has slowed down so much.<br />
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This last trimester is crawling by . . . and yet, I'm so close to the end, to the end that is the beginning, that I feel like I'm on a roller coaster, on that last screaming, exhilarating, terrifying, embodying plummet toward the finish.<br />
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And I can't help it. <b><i> I'm so excited</i></b>.<br />
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Nesting instincts are beginning to creep in, and I want to get everything ready, to make a place for this new little boy to join us, and I think a lot about birthing him, and how I <i>cannot wait</i> to see his little face for the first time, to see if he has hair like mine or eyes like his daddy, to see if he looks like his siblings or has gone his own way, to feed him from my body and introduce him to his brother and watch his daddy holding him close and inhale his precious baby scent.<br />
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Just weeks away now. <b>Sometimes I am afraid, but mostly I am humming with anticipation. I hope and I hope and I hope -- against the worst, of course, but also because mostly, it's all that I can do. </b>All that this soul and brain are capable of.<br />
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How different from those last terrified weeks of his brother's pregnancy. Even with all the physical discomfort, my heart beats a steady mantra -- <i>what a gift, what a gift, what a gift</i>.<br />
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-72283546960461715822015-03-05T12:07:00.000-08:002015-03-05T12:07:10.810-08:00Life Lately {Art, Pregnancy, + Parenting Updates}<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It feels like it's been so quiet here lately! And really, I didn't last post all that long ago, but it's longer ago than usual for what I try to do so it seems like f o r e v e r. Here's a bit of what's been going on . . <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8658/16463816152_41d56f8f7c.jpg" /></div>
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Even though I haven't been creating very much, I've been having some #artistlife excitement. I sold my art at a local craft fair about a month ago . . .<br />
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. . . and right now some of my original paintings are currently on display in my favorite coffee shops for the duration of March. It feels weird to have my <a href="http://www.epiphanyartstudio.etsy.com/" target="_blank">art</a> so <i>out there</i> like this. Vulnerable . . . but good. In fact, I'm writing this blog post int the coffee shop in question, and looking up to see my heart-works hanging for all to see gives me a little thrill every time. I look forward to trying to make more of these kinds of things happen further down the line. <br />
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<a href="http://www.sheofthewild.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.sheofthewild.com/" border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7430/16422306055_45c24eea47.jpg" /></a></div>
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I also <span style="font-size: x-small;">very quietly </span>launched a new website recently, called <b><a href="http://www.sheofthewild.com/" target="_blank">She of the Wild</a></b>. I'd been feeling more and more like the website you're on right now is not the place for my spiritual experiments, explorations, and questions. I wanted them to have their own space, and now, they do! If you're interested in feminist spirituality and the divine feminine, I'd love for you to join me <a href="http://www.sheofthewild.com/blog/" target="_blank">there</a>. You can also find She of the Wild on Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sheofthewild" target="_blank">here</a>. I'm sure there will be some overlap in topics between this blog and She of the Wild, but in general, the blog you're reading now will be more reserved for thoughts on creativity, parenting, grief and healing, self-care, and my life in general . . . with a side of feminism, of course, because women are awesome.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>29 weeks, on a day blissfully devoid of puke</i></td></tr>
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All that makes me seem highly productive in the outward sense, but really, most of my creative energy has been turned inward, toward baby-making. I'm a few weeks into my third trimester, and aside from feeling the most intense and unpredictable nausea that I've ever had in any of my three pregnancies (let me tell you -- hanging artwork in public when all you want to do is hurl is quite . . . interesting), my anxiety hasn't been even close to what it was last time, during my first pregnancy-after-a-loss.<br />
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I give all the credit on that front to this guy, who keeps me busy, and who puts up with me so patiently when I can't do more than lay in bed and try not to puke. He is pretty much the most wonderful boy in the entire world. <br />
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Except maybe for this guy. They're tied in my book. And did I tell you? New baby is a beautiful, healthy, and BIG <b>boy</b>! I'm excited for brothers, and so so so excited to meet this little dude. It feels like the 10 weeks until my due date are the equivalent of an eternity, but I'm sure they'll fly by (or, I hope they do, particularly if my nausea decides to stick around). He doesn't have an official name yet, but we are in deliberations. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>thank goodness I didn't feel ill the day I had to to drink this</i></td></tr>
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That's about it! Life has been slow and quiet but, aside from feeling sick, it's been good. I've been learning important lessons in the value of Gentle and Now and Rest and Asking For Help. I hope I remember them when I'm feeling stronger and life is urging me to go faster than perhaps I need to. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Your turn! What have you been up to lately, friends?</span></div>
Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-38842759029726982652015-02-15T13:24:00.002-08:002015-02-15T13:24:48.427-08:00The Phoenix Soul: Vision is Here!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" border="0" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8666/16540664092_9373544934.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>The latest issue of <a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" target="_blank">The Phoenix Soul</a> online magazine (formerly named Sprout) is here! </b>Fresh off the digital presses, this month's edition centers around the theme of Vision, with contributions from some of my favorite artists, like the fierce <a href="http://www.happywritermama.com/" target="_blank">Heather Mattern</a> and delicious <a href="http://carissapaige.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Carissa Paige</a> (yum yum). <br />
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I've been so enjoying writing for and reading this publication for many years now, and I love how each new issue delights and challenges me. Plus, they're really, really pretty. Here's a little sneak peek of what I created for this beautiful issue (of course I had to go all black sheet and write about not-seeing!):<br />
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<a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" border="0" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8592/16355843357_997d7bbe29.jpg" /></a></div>
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You can learn more about The Phoenix Soul and grab a copy of Vision (and copies of previous editions) <b><a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" target="_blank">here</a></b>*. <br />
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<a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=162174&c=ib&aff=168836" border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7441/16354267220_6d29deb638.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>*affiliate link -- thank you for supporting the blog!</i></div>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-59104925302822539012015-02-14T19:18:00.000-08:002015-02-15T08:03:02.412-08:00On the Beginning of the End (Again)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>at 28 weeks in my second pregnancy, summer 2012</i></td></tr>
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Well, it's here. Again. My third trimester.<br />
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I've been dreading it. Which I know might sound quite awful, because shouldn't every week that brings this baby closer to his birth make me happy?<br />
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And they do. And yet.<br />
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My first pregnancy ended in stillbirth just weeks into my third trimester. My second pregnancy's third trimester saw me trekking up and down huge mountains of anxiety each day, not to mention going on and off bed rest with preterm labor. Oh, and breaking my elbow so badly it needed surgery and two weeks immobilization just a nine days before my son was born.<br />
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I don't seem to have a very good track record with third trimesters.<br />
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Not to say that I believe all this means I'm destined for yet another excruciating final trimester. But I'm not looking forward to tallying nightly kick counts (thanks to my anterior placenta for making this task more stressful) and tracking the contractions that have already been making an intriguing appearance. <br />
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And yet.<br />
And yet<br />
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I am really starting to enjoy my sensually swelling belly for the first time this pregnancy (an enjoyment which is coming far later than usual this time). I am loving how the kicks and jabs and all.the.heartburn. help me to imagine that this little boy is a sweet and feisty dude with crazy hair like his mama. My feet are beginning to tingle with the sense of <strike>waddling</strike> treading on holy ground, territory that I do not expect to travel again in this life.<br />
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All that is good. Very, very good. And I am glad for it. Grateful for it. It takes some of the edge off the double-edged sword that is pregnancy after a loss.<br />
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* * *</div>
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Some days I feel normal, and this scares me. </div>
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Because it feels like so often the day that I manage to convince my brain to release its dark imaginings of worst case scenarios is exactly the day that those fears take on flesh. <i>Maybe if you worry enough</i>, anxiety yammers, <i>maybe you'll be able to avert disaster</i>.</div>
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Of course I know that it doesn't work like that. But since when could anxiety ever be reasoned with?</div>
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And still . . . some days I feel normal. Like this pregnancy will progress smoothly, that this second son will come into my arms with only the usual amount of blood and moaning. Like there's no reason to be afraid. Like I'll get a happy ending as easily as so many others seem to.</div>
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And other days, the future feels dark, and I find comfort in contingency plans. Breathing is a meditation in reminding myself that I'm not the only one who aches/grieves/weeps with terror. That happy endings are mostly myth. <b>That life is ever and only a path, that perceived destinations are only way-stations and rain shelters and detainment points</b>. </div>
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* * *</div>
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I really wanted my second pregnancy -- my first pregnancy-after-a-loss -- to feeling like redemption. But mostly it was an exercise in staying in my own terrified skin. Sacred, though. Even with all the fear, it felt sacred.<br />
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This pregnancy, I again wanted the redemption, and enjoyment. I also wanted to feel imbued with divine femininity. I don't think I've gotten any of that -- being pregnant with a beautiful two year old in the house is way more physically challenging than I expected -- but it has felt normal. <b>I've been chasing around this gorgeous boy, and feeling like an exhausted, exponentially growing pregnant mama -- a.k.a. <i>normal</i></b>. <br />
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I like that. I mean, when I'm awake enough to really appreciate it. And I also like how my living son keeps my eyes on, well, the living, instead of all my fears of death and catastrophe. Lots of mama + cute buddy dates are my strategy for surviving (dare I hope to thrive? let's go with <i>yes</i>) the next 13 weeks. <br />
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<b>This life, any life, all our lives -- they're not very tidy, are they? But they are real and true and full of now and here and a fierce pile of grit, and that's important. That is something. Something that matters.</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>feeling epically huge (even though I'm not really) at 25+ weeks this time around </i></td></tr>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095265928930417153.post-45774442372705604952015-02-10T15:25:00.000-08:002015-02-10T15:25:39.846-08:00The Price of Becoming Who You Are?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I thought we were the forever kind of friends. Family, I called us. The kind who would be there when days pass dizzy like a maze, or hearts sink as heavy as stones in the salted ocean.<br />
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And I tried really hard to be a good friend (although I'm sure I wasn't always) -- by which I meant a not-too-much friend, and maybe that's really where things went wrong, at the beginning instead of at the end, like it feels. Maybe I shouldn't have made my grief so palatable in person, or drained my soul through a mesh so that it wasn't too murky when you looked close at it. I didn't know how to do that, or that I was allowed to.<br />
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But I always thought that our kind of family, the ones we choose, were the always-there kind. Until they weren't there. My husband and I left the institution for the last time not knowing, not planning for it to be, the last time, and maybe everyone thought we were angry, or going through a phase, or something, when really we were (are) trying to live true.<br />
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I didn't think that friendship depended on that. On the institution, I mean. I didn't think we'd lose everyone along with our certainty, which was (is) grueling enough. But we did, or most of everyone. The ones who kept walking with us, or came after us, or asked how we were, and meant it, with no strings attached -- they were few, and not all who I thought they would be, and I cherish them fiercely.<br />
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<i>Should we have sent up crimson soul-flares of distress?</i> I thought we did.<br />
<i>Should we have been more clear that we loved our friends?</i> Yes, I'm sure. <br />
<i>Should we have assumed less naively that beliefs and love were not dependent on one another? </i>To which I reply: do we really have to be identical to the majority before we are loveable?<br />
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<i>You're not alone</i>, one or two said. <i>We're here for you, just come back inside</i>.<i> I want to,</i> I said, <i>but I can't right now. Won't you meet me out here in the wilds?</i> And they said nothing else.<br />
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My heart bleeds for all the ways that we tried, imperfectly, to love and be loved, ways that now seem wasted, rejected. <b>Their silence whispers in the aching hours that I am forgettable, problematic, unwanted. But my soul cries, louder every moment, <i>thank you for listening to me at last</i>.</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7547/15936710879_85170a26a6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7547/15936710879_85170a26a6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://www.mandysteward.com/" target="_blank">Mandy's</a> Secret Message Society <a href="http://www.mandysteward.com/secret-message-society-membership/" target="_blank">zine</a></td></tr>
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Beth Moreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17507326859684820743noreply@blogger.com10