tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32118401977416023992024-02-21T00:21:24.106-08:00SpIGoTThe Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.comBlogger484125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-75463021688674618812013-12-30T06:15:00.001-08:002013-12-30T06:15:52.573-08:00SilverBrief glimpses of 25 years of marriage<div><br></div><div>"I do" in front of hundreds</div><div>Sunrise over the mountain in Hawaii</div><div>Finding our first dog on the way home from TCU on an icy day</div><div>Buying our second dog for our first anniversary, a little "bagel puppy"</div><div>John making partner and Jill going to grad school</div><div>John elected to school board</div><div>The first dog dying and the third dog brought home</div><div>Long days of infertility</div><div>Longer nights of infertility</div><div>Many tears </div><div>Intrusive medical procedures</div><div>We move next door to Jill's parents</div><div>Success! Luke! John is completely enthralled</div><div>More infertility</div><div>Adoption agencies researched and chosen</div><div>Country chosen</div><div>Settling in for the long wait to get to our girl in China</div><div>Plans changed in one painful heartbeat when we saw Alex's face</div><div>Trip to Russia during the coldest November ever</div><div>Thanksgiving in Russia--listing every possible thing we could for which to give thanks</div><div>A fabulous 10th anniversary party with friends</div><div>"By the way, China has a daughter for you. Do you still want to go?"</div><div>By the way, I'm pregnant</div><div>Song of joy in our heart turns into a Song of joy in our arms</div><div>Anna joins the family</div><div>By the way, I'm pregnant again</div><div>God clearly tells John our family is to move to Canada</div><div>Calgary withstands the emigration of the Spicer Six</div><div>Emma is born and my second educational arc begins</div><div>We move back to Texas</div><div>Emma says her first word other first birthday--Mama</div><div>We build our dream house</div><div>We start homeschooling</div><div>Vera is found </div><div>Vera is adopted and things get even more fun!</div><div>We buy a 12 passenger van</div><div>Ella is found and within 4 months is adopted</div><div>Dean is found and over a year later is adopted, days after our 20th anniversary</div><div>Ten Spicers is declared the number of completion</div><div>Family camp in Colorado is attended for three straight years</div><div><br></div><div>We've traveled the world, watched dreams come true, seen dreams shatter and then found newer and better dreams, and experienced things we never would have dreamed about 25 years ago.</div><div><br></div><div>What a ride!</div><div><br></div><div>"Meeting you was fate,</div><div>Becoming your friend was a choice,</div><div>but falling in love with you I had no control over." ~~ Anonymous</div><div><br></div><div>Happy 25th Anniversary, John</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-2497878901682437952013-12-20T18:31:00.001-08:002014-01-01T10:30:35.899-08:00The Dirty Dozen<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDwW_3VQir53OqyA-3INrBA9zq06nSej3QcyGMWwzfc9bBGFcPOhsO0T49LYgbC3k-O4DpEq8XGBnJmCcNWg6vcDdA41mWyhZWo3MMBw5ES1jmp0x97pABGp3HkSvv3RWZTPtAalwVyyp/s640/blogger-image--572269182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDwW_3VQir53OqyA-3INrBA9zq06nSej3QcyGMWwzfc9bBGFcPOhsO0T49LYgbC3k-O4DpEq8XGBnJmCcNWg6vcDdA41mWyhZWo3MMBw5ES1jmp0x97pABGp3HkSvv3RWZTPtAalwVyyp/s640/blogger-image--572269182.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I started teaching my boys at home when they were first graders, making this school year my twelfth year of homeschooling. You might expect that, after 11 years of experience, I would be quite the confident homeschool mom. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">No. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Actually, most homeschool moms reading this post would likely agree that each year can suck a little more confidence out of you because the stakes just keep getting higher. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">My situation might be even a bit more precarious simply due to the fact that we don't do yearly standardized testing. I know, I know. That's crazy talk! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All that to say, when SATs and college application time rolled around for Luke...I was a bit nervous. More like, waking-up-at-4-am-and-praying-like-crazy-nervous. I knew he was capable and smart. I still worried that somewhere along the way I had dropped the ball. Forgotten an entire subject. Emphasized the wrong things. Let him watch too many Seinfeld episodes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So imagine my delight when I--I mean he--received his first acceptance letter in the mail! I ran in to give it to him, practically squealing! He wasn't exceptionally thrilled; it was from a university near the bottom of his list. Two days later, however, he received the email from Texas Tech (most likely his first choice) which he screenshot and texted to his thrilled parents! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Of course, a few college acceptance letters do not mean I am a great homeschool teacher...Luke is a smart kid and an excellent autodidact. Nonetheless, I must confess to wanting a big party thrown in my honor to make up for the years of teacher gifts I never received...but I'll take a screenshot of acceptance from Texas Tech any day.</div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-76499857777429961122013-12-18T19:16:00.001-08:002013-12-18T19:16:37.909-08:00Seventh HeavenSeven years ago, I was in Colombia finishing the adoption of the world's most beautiful Colombian girl--Mariella Camila Spicer. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_P7-ee6MlqgsKqk8grq25s1Rkn2kBuDb_tSnw2vOLU3NUI49E6OA7_upv6bSQf8SEZdpWMx1jNqXhhMH5fN1UhVPCBJrTMWlZDQFzbWo30qql63S-waWWW_djOHOArz6YVOjHP_Y7PNQ/s640/blogger-image--532227488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_P7-ee6MlqgsKqk8grq25s1Rkn2kBuDb_tSnw2vOLU3NUI49E6OA7_upv6bSQf8SEZdpWMx1jNqXhhMH5fN1UhVPCBJrTMWlZDQFzbWo30qql63S-waWWW_djOHOArz6YVOjHP_Y7PNQ/s640/blogger-image--532227488.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ella wasn't what I expected. Vera and Emma weren't especially similar, so naturally I assumed they represented the two poles of the Down syndrome spectrum. I quickly figured out there was no linear spectrum (and even if there were, Vera wouldn't be on it. She's her own spectrum!); more like a constellation. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PXx6Tn6UNWKHD4xpqxvRmSHieOGOJoWtQH7VA_v4GhVdjmSJp38irPvBUU_qAETz-Hxe580-TxLsuqO4hWVWKe6vKHXPLmFLkUzjaLkT_H2b-6pu2WH1egr3_cimTLfRDeJDGCZ6ouSP/s640/blogger-image-1808362569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4PXx6Tn6UNWKHD4xpqxvRmSHieOGOJoWtQH7VA_v4GhVdjmSJp38irPvBUU_qAETz-Hxe580-TxLsuqO4hWVWKe6vKHXPLmFLkUzjaLkT_H2b-6pu2WH1egr3_cimTLfRDeJDGCZ6ouSP/s640/blogger-image-1808362569.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I expected, due to her young age of 2.5 years, that Ella would slowly but surely learn to speak and walk and feed herself and even put on pants without help. Instead, developmental goals took much longer to achieve than they did with her sisters. We are still working on many things. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEe0wA3ITFKBsk56ZHS-T2h4B2Jf5Ysw5-xBtLAy6eHfnpRkxsQ4iKWK-CsVl6i_FmJHrrMDIG80lrWC2qhZG4-rrnz2jPzgunMkEij4JmIKohqc2pMASoGYXe6uPfIF_EXiYp-dzTqgU/s640/blogger-image-594735417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEe0wA3ITFKBsk56ZHS-T2h4B2Jf5Ysw5-xBtLAy6eHfnpRkxsQ4iKWK-CsVl6i_FmJHrrMDIG80lrWC2qhZG4-rrnz2jPzgunMkEij4JmIKohqc2pMASoGYXe6uPfIF_EXiYp-dzTqgU/s640/blogger-image-594735417.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One main issue for Ella is expressive speech. I never expected to have a child who couldn't speak very many words. Yet, we almost always know what she means. We've also learned to trust her when we can't understand. I learned this lesson again just a few weeks ago.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcQLTtKGvpMhns6zNXLKwDR7Elhj2AcgoFA1z-Gw7h0Ws-ANFYSoqKScejK42wGVYtx2CdNRYZEPQxLSXLYdflMueNtkLBuETruOCLj58srlw0KYxOOJgyuxACfdKgIn6XyaL1jagwFmg/s640/blogger-image-1433206982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcQLTtKGvpMhns6zNXLKwDR7Elhj2AcgoFA1z-Gw7h0Ws-ANFYSoqKScejK42wGVYtx2CdNRYZEPQxLSXLYdflMueNtkLBuETruOCLj58srlw0KYxOOJgyuxACfdKgIn6XyaL1jagwFmg/s640/blogger-image-1433206982.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I had taken Ella and Dean shopping with me in a big box store. Dean wanted to look at the Legos, which happened to be across the aisle from the Toy Story figurines. Ella picked up both Woody and Buzz Lightyear figurines. I asked her to choose one. She emphatically shook her head and hugged them all the more tightly. I finally remembered that she had some birthday money from her grandmother, so I let her get them both because I could see she realllllly wanted both of them.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjC4bDvgqM2ZB7HvnJQMM53D6_dOSEGf6ppaqNdmVIE2O5nzxIZwkIQAphgt-b5v2WiIdtVlBgxJnyS6Nx4RzKekC22TJEMnFvROfXD_6Dz_ZthyphenhyphenZHJvkZbzZe2DeazQkN2U53pVyK7VW/s640/blogger-image-240337158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjC4bDvgqM2ZB7HvnJQMM53D6_dOSEGf6ppaqNdmVIE2O5nzxIZwkIQAphgt-b5v2WiIdtVlBgxJnyS6Nx4RzKekC22TJEMnFvROfXD_6Dz_ZthyphenhyphenZHJvkZbzZe2DeazQkN2U53pVyK7VW/s640/blogger-image-240337158.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ella carried both of them during the car ride home. When we unloaded, she marched inside and made a bee line to Vera. Without a word, she handed Buzz over to Vera, as she had evidently been planning all along. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZgw2jObck2IYXDhYMlFgiM_MOonfkZ4Uk8AnaI_OfmHDpT64cVtmh5M7R0v9I1uxs-jSDNSJ1wcoRVBJI2Rzif17l3zl8W-OkDLC79m9tLwE65CPU03gjc2bnV5JCWpLxxiX_4t58y44/s640/blogger-image--1114463856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZgw2jObck2IYXDhYMlFgiM_MOonfkZ4Uk8AnaI_OfmHDpT64cVtmh5M7R0v9I1uxs-jSDNSJ1wcoRVBJI2Rzif17l3zl8W-OkDLC79m9tLwE65CPU03gjc2bnV5JCWpLxxiX_4t58y44/s640/blogger-image--1114463856.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">What an example! As so often happens with my girls, I am reminded of God, of my relationship with Him. So many times in my life, He seems strangely quiet. I see my circumstances and I feel Him leading me along, but I'm not sure why...I'm only sure I should follow along even when I don't understand. One day, quite unexpectedly, He shows me the blessing He had planned all along.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Like Ella...the blessing I had no idea I needed, the blessing who was nothing like I expected, the blessing who fills my heart every day with her hugs and kisses and smiles. Seven years with her as my youngest daughter has truly been nothing but the richest of blessings...the kind you always know come straight from God. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-19466854102599297342013-11-11T18:19:00.001-08:002013-11-11T18:19:20.662-08:00Guest post--Daddy<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPazbA5alohMLpJjyIN2tJH5OxvVcnUX6RwCa2iy43MBhtRWkUlENqzWEEajPObDyz9_zp4qTQApT_9_PJqCpHK-oG9UxS0ur7GiorEn7P09xedpnacb4CdUHxRHddZvH-hWNBpcG2owB/s640/blogger-image--92683181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPazbA5alohMLpJjyIN2tJH5OxvVcnUX6RwCa2iy43MBhtRWkUlENqzWEEajPObDyz9_zp4qTQApT_9_PJqCpHK-oG9UxS0ur7GiorEn7P09xedpnacb4CdUHxRHddZvH-hWNBpcG2owB/s640/blogger-image--92683181.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(137, 143, 156); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">We adopted my daughter Vera from the Far East of Russia. She was five at the time. She is now 14. Vera has Down syndrome. Yesterday, she put on a sweatshirt. The sleeves were too long, going well past her hands. It bothered her. She came to<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "> me and told me that it was too small. I started rolling up the sleeves and told her the shirt was too big, not too small. She told me again that it was too small. We had multiple too small / too big exchanges but she wouldn't budge. I don't win arguments with Vera. <br><br>I now actually think that she meant that she was too small, rather than the shirt being too small. It made me consider how Vera may think. For instance, she often has trouble communicating, either by not being able to quite enunciate the word she is using or by not being able to phrase the thought correctly. She will keep trying until you repeat back to her what she is intending. She is frustrated if we don't get it. I think this makes her feel small and makes her consider the world as we know it to be very big. That is, we take for granted the small things (like being able to be readily understood) and she celebrates the small things moment by moment.<br><br>Vera is the most unique human being I have met, including my other two children with Down syndrome. There is no smile in the world like the Vera smile of personal worth and achievement. She loves to feel big in her somewhat small and limited world. Yet, in many ways Vera is far bigger than I will ever be or can imagine becoming. She has expanded my big world by making me appreciate all things small, inch by inch and day by day.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(137, 143, 156); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><br></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(137, 143, 156); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; ">(posted in Facebook yesterday, and posted here with permission from Daddy John)</span></span></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-78241561394409350012013-11-02T07:56:00.001-07:002013-11-02T07:56:56.064-07:00My real kidsCertain narratives and expectations exist in the adoptive world, including the one that has families giving birth to their children first, then adopting children later as the bio kids are growing up and the parents find they missed having little ones around. As a mom of mostly teenagers now, I can certainly understand! I have friends who have done exactly that, as a matter of fact, and their new children reap the benefits of having experienced parents. <div><br></div><div>In our family, and many others I know, the order is rather more mixed. We are bio, adopt, adopt, bio, bio, adopt, adopt, adopt. In our particular case, I believe it happened that way because neither method of bringing children into our family was our "Plan B." Both were "Plan A."</div><div><br></div><div>Still, expectations hold sway. A few months ago I was asked about adoption by a new friend who was unfamiliar with the order of our family ("order" being a word rarely used to reference the Spicer family!). </div><div><br></div><div>"Do your biological kids ever resent that you've adopted all the other kids?" </div><div><br></div><div>I've been asked versions of that question many times so it is clearly a concern of pre-adoptive parents. I have friends whose older children have been resentful so it is a valid consideration. </div><div><br></div><div>In yesterday's blog post, I mentioned that "<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I never remember my children are adopted, but I never forget, either."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And so it happened that after I read the question on my iPad, I turned to Song (our 3rd child) to ask her if she ever resented all the children we had adopted. No kidding. </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">Just in time, I remembered that she was adopted!</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "> </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; ">I started laughing and told her what I had started to do. If I remember correctly her excited response was something like, "are we getting more?!?!"</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I doubt I will continue to write daily during November about adoption awareness (or my lack of awareness!), but I do love sharing glimpses into the ways adoption is woven into our lives. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I love that 14 years on, I can look at Song, who clearly was not born to me, and first and foremost see my lovely daughter. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRL3OT-alHN-Hj2Y82iA2nCGb7tglbT1gpu98ENooO_RCGjJXF9H7y0bWSTyfWNQwHv1hXVW82Hvo62NK279vIZPIIQd4CmRcR6bY85mDPZfP8X449yfhjT4OZVrrhapzqsOu76gPOxZo9/s640/blogger-image-856763916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRL3OT-alHN-Hj2Y82iA2nCGb7tglbT1gpu98ENooO_RCGjJXF9H7y0bWSTyfWNQwHv1hXVW82Hvo62NK279vIZPIIQd4CmRcR6bY85mDPZfP8X449yfhjT4OZVrrhapzqsOu76gPOxZo9/s640/blogger-image-856763916.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I love that she looks at me and sees her mommy. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I love that as my children look at each other they see the thing we all need so desperately: family, and every one of us included. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-27119331377652323552013-11-01T10:33:00.001-07:002013-11-01T10:33:57.272-07:00HappyThe beginnings of my days have a comforting sameness to them. Vera (at least) and maybe Ella or Dean or Emma come in to snuggle with me in my comfy bed. Some days we fall back asleep together and sometimes we chat a bit. We say, "I love you" a whole lot. We talk about upcoming birthdays and holidays and adoption anniversaries--all the highlights of our life. I get and give loads of kisses and hugs and occasionally receive the unintentional elbow to the gut. <div><br></div><div>I could hardly love it more.</div><div><br></div><div>Part of this morning's conversation was very simple yet brought up so much joy, so many thoughts, so much thankfulness. </div><div><br></div><div>Mommy: Vera, are you happy?</div><div>Vera (smiling with her whole body): yes.</div><div><br></div><div>She IS happy. She's also grumpy and stubborn and kind and mischievous and sad and friendly and even maternal. But she is happy. And I am grateful to the bottom of my soul that she is able to experience that range of emotions, those family celebrations, those snugly mornings with mommy.</div><div><br></div><div>November is National Adoption Awareness Month. Funny thing, adoption: I never remember my children are adopted, but I never forget, either. So when I ask Vera if she is happy, I'm asking someone who is fully, completely, unreservedly my daughter. And when she says she is happy, I think of where she could be, what her life would be like, if she would already be living in a Russian mental institution, if she would even still be alive. </div><div><br></div><div>So for the millionth time I squeeze her a little tighter, but she is still just as much my beloved daughter as she was before. And I thank God for the millionth time for giving her to me, and I feel more like His beloved daughter than ever before. And I am reminded again that His purpose in adoption is to present to us a picture of His adoption, of our secure place in His family, of the great Love He lavishes upon us. </div><div><br></div><div>I am so happy He did.</div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-67240708530876045192013-09-03T18:26:00.001-07:002013-09-03T18:26:07.040-07:00You Can Keep Your Scarlet LetterMy Facebook feed is all awash in the sharing of a blogpost-of-the-moment from the mother of teenage sons to teenage girls whose posts make their way to the sons' Facebook or Instagram or Twitter feed.<div><br></div><div>Please imagine the scene as she describes it: the family sits around a computer screen and looks at pictures of teenage girls then decides to hide them based on the way the young lady is dressed, or posed, or ??? Because they care about their sons. They also care about you, teenage girl, and don't want their boys to only think of you in sexual poses. They make sure the young ladies know that there are no second chances if they would post anything like that. Very nice of them, letting the girls know that up front. As she says, "men of integrity don't linger over pictures of scantily clad high-school girls." </div><div><br></div><div>(Unless they are the dads of men of integrity, then I'm guessing there might be some lingering as they point out just what, exactly, is wrong with this pose...but let's not dwell on that awkward thought.)</div><div><br></div><div>I realize what I am about to say will ruffle some feathers, but this is what I really see happening around the dinner table in this scenario: the boys are being taught to identify the bad girls, the ones who are not going to be welcome as a future wife no matter how their maturity level may have changed because "there are no second chances". These sons are being taught how to spot a girl with self-esteem issues from twenty paces, but not how to treat them as image bearers of Christ.</div><div><br></div><div>"Every day I pray for the women my boys will love." </div><div><br></div><div>I hope that is true. But...coming on the heels of a rather lengthy diatribe against (while pretending in the most surface way possible to be FOR) the girls who don't make the single-elimination cut...it rings hollow, sounds like she is praying for not just a woman, but the right kind of woman, one with no Scarlet A applied by a member of her own gender, for crying out loud.</div><div><br></div><div>Why do I even bother writing this? I was the type of girl she dreams of for her sons, after all. And come on, Jill, be honest...are you saying you want your sons to bring home one of THOSE girls?</div><div><br></div><div>The thing is, I have so many friends who were, in fact, THOSE girls. And now they are grown. And smarter. And able to give second and third and fourth chances. (It's called grace.) Some of them had babies awfully young and made fantastic mothers, often doing the work of two because those sons, the ones who were taught that some girls are for sex and some girls are for marrying, left them high and dry. </div><div><br></div><div>I write it because my girls, modest to a fault, might still attract your son outside of social media, in real life. And as sometimes happens, even to the girls who aren't supposed to be THOSE girls, they might find themselves in a situation that would only be compounded by thinking our house wasn't one of second chances, of grace, of love. And I want to see my grandchildren...all of them. I've been dreaming of them for so long. </div><div><br></div><div>Above all, love one another deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:8</div><div><br></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-92113780016009010162013-08-14T18:41:00.001-07:002013-08-14T18:41:03.350-07:00James Bond and I both have a license to.......drive. <div><br></div><div>Exciting, no? </div><div><br></div><div>No.</div><div><br></div><div>I know.</div><div><br></div><div>But naturally, if it involves Jill and being responsible you can bet your 007 there's a story. </div><div><br></div><div>My story started 15 years ago. On August 13, 1998, my driver's license expired. Being Jillish, even then, I decided day after day and week after week that I would make the dreaded trip to the DPS "tomorrow" or "later". </div><div><br></div><div>On or about August 30, 2000, I finally showed up to renew my license. We were two days away from moving to Canada. John and I had been up to Canada a few weeks before and had been unable to rent a car because we BOTH had expired licenses. What can I say? I rub off...</div><div><br></div><div>Back to the DPS...because I was 2 YEARS and 2 WEEKS overdue in my renewal, I had to retake both the written and driving portions of the driver's test. For real. No problem, I can handle that. Oops--problem--they had no open appointments to give me a driving test for several days (after we had left for Canada) but hey! I could take the written portion of the test and get a learner's permit issued! </div><div><br></div><div>Which is how I got to be the World's Most Conscientious Driver. After two years of driving with an expired license, I then drove for a couple of extra years with only a learner's permit. Once again, I just couldn't stand the thought of taking all the kids to the DPS, waiting for hours, having to take the driving test, etc. Actually, I did go once and the wait was hours because it was the morning that the commercial driver's license tests were given. </div><div><br></div><div>One lovely day, my mom took all the kids to her house and I decided that I must go take care of this problem, mainly so I could start speeding again. I'm happy to say that I passed my driving exam and was back to being a licensed driver.</div><div><br></div><div>When my license was next up for renewal a few years later, I was able to do so online...AND I DID!!!</div><div><br></div><div>This year, however, required a trip to the dreaded DPS again. I managed to wait until the afternoon of my birthday to get there but I PREVAILED!</div><div><br></div><div>Now, to find an Aston Martin...</div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-53836016014289992802013-07-28T19:34:00.001-07:002013-07-28T19:49:57.167-07:00Weakness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "><br></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; "><div class="passage version-NIV result-text-style-normal text-html " style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; "><p><span id="en-NIV-28391" class="text 1Cor-1-27">But God chose<sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28391A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)" style="font-size: 0.65em; line-height: normal; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top; "></sup> the foolish<sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28391B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="font-size: 0.65em; line-height: normal; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top; "></sup> things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. -- 1 Corinthians 1:27<br></span></p><p><span id="en-NIV-28391" class="text 1Cor-1-27"><br></span></p></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">"The cry of the oppressed, the lonely, and the rejected<br>is essentially a cry<br>for recognition, presence, and communion.<br>Their cry disturbs,<br>creates fear,<br>provokes rejection.<br>But if they are listened to,<br>they can also awaken the hearts<br>of the powerful and the wise,<br>calling them to change,<br>to conversion;<br>calling them not just to organize and do things<br>with generosity<br>but to enter into communion with them.<br>As the powerful listen to the cry of love<br>surging up gently from the oppressed and the powerless,<br>they can begin to accept and love<br>the vulnerable child within themselves."<br></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">~Jean Vanier</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);"><br></span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeo4mRtrma3m_wwUjwH1n1freVdCd7zAqIZU3ZGGcx-9X-jbVviiGgBLG1-tf8qPrJ_idSVHFTMDz5pYXHBmmiAuM9YcQNKCUd4KfK_sWHanAijaOIS3oClwtgwBmuhj-YHl0jQFvu85r/s640/blogger-image-1664465655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeo4mRtrma3m_wwUjwH1n1freVdCd7zAqIZU3ZGGcx-9X-jbVviiGgBLG1-tf8qPrJ_idSVHFTMDz5pYXHBmmiAuM9YcQNKCUd4KfK_sWHanAijaOIS3oClwtgwBmuhj-YHl0jQFvu85r/s640/blogger-image-1664465655.jpg"></a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Picture taken by me on my mission trip to Peru two years ago. </div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-22698192928217079752013-07-08T08:20:00.001-07:002013-07-08T08:20:11.412-07:00Down Syndrome Screening ProcessLuke had a friend spend the night Saturday night and he also came to church with us Sunday morning. This isn't the first time; he's been coming over for years and is an altogether fun kid to have around. I've always suspected he enjoys the chaos of our big family since he only has one brother. <div><br></div><div>During the church service, he reached over Vera and me a couple of times to stroke Ella's cheek, then her silky hair as she rested her head on my lap. Ella just looked at him and smiled. </div><div><br></div><div>Vera usually draws during the sermon. Yesterday, she drew pictures of Luke's friend. She showed me with the shy smile of teenaged girls everywhere who might have a little crush on big brother's friend. It was cute to see.</div><div><br></div><div>I was out walking this morning, hoping no one caught me with a big smile on my face while thinking about Luke's friend, of many other friends, of family members...when my mind went back to high school, of all things. I never witnessed this happening but every morning before school began, some of the football players would gather in the cafeteria to socialize before the first bell rang. A fellow student with Down syndrome wanted to gather and socialize with them. One morning, the players got the bright idea to pass around a glass and spit in it then give it to the boy with Down syndrome to drink. </div><div><br></div><div>Perhaps he would have, too. I can imagine Vera drinking it, not realizing that anyone would ask her to do something harmful or gross, always believing that people have her best interests at heart. (Guilelessness is part of her charm and I am happy she lives a life that allows her to maintain it.) Fortunately, all those years ago in the school cafeteria one of the football players said no, we aren't going to do that. He took him under his wing and that was all it took. I don't think they continued in their mistreatment of him again.</div><div><br></div><div>One thing I've remembered from my earliest readings about raising children with Down syndrome is that the family soon realizes what a great character barometer they are, how they start to rely on the reaction of their child to as a window to the soul of new acquaintances. It goes the other way, too...we watch people's reactions to our children with Down syndrome, to their quirks, to their very existence, and proceed accordingly with the friendship, or not.</div><div><br></div><div>My children have effortlessly adopted this way of viewing and evaluating the world. They will always remark on the way kids at church treat Vera, Emma, or Ella. The straightest path to their heart is to treat their siblings well. </div><div><br></div><div>Straightest path to my heart, too.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-18125878332166634312013-07-02T08:57:00.001-07:002013-07-02T08:57:31.074-07:00That's Backwards!"There's a huge lesson in Special Olympics, and here's the way I see it and express it. There are special athletes on the end line and they're ready to run the 50-meter dash. There's a first place, second place, third place, and then on down to fifth or sixth place. Now they all participate in their own style--all kinds of styles. But in the end, the kid who's last is probably two or three minutes behind the field. And here's this kid, struggling down, who's trying to stay between the lines--he finally gets to the end line. That kid gets the biggest applause, and that's backwards--that's backwards! <div><br></div><div>"In Special Olympics, there's a recognition of getting the most out of what you've been given! And I think that's a great lesson of Special Olympics. It focuses on people where they are."<br><div><br></div><div>Carl Erskine, former Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher who played in several World Series, and father to Jimmy Erskine, a 50+ year old man with Down syndrome who has a long history of involvement in Special Olympics</div></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-59184782811174932292013-06-18T09:50:00.001-07:002013-06-18T17:26:17.912-07:00My First Adult!!!I'm not sure how it happened...it was all so quick! One minute, he's a 3.5 year old boy fresh off the plane from Russia; the next minute, he's all grown up and as American as apple pie, as Texan as the Alamo. Remember?<div><br></div><div>One thing has never changed--he is still stinkin' handsome! Something else has also not changed--we are so proud to have him as our son, so happy God chose to place him in our family as our oldest, so humbled to be allowed to parent him and celebrate him, on this birthday and for all the life events to come. Ok, that was more than one other thing, wasn't it? <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzHcWJL69006Y2z8qdUGnKF5hldJzPaxpayGAWDj1e29t10rnq3ji3Rt8X0p0r_b_BSyZ8JxoNB6p8hDs4wE19dUTzbd5v8rDd8QY8lr-N5k1YaIP15wI4aT1c7R0YbTaInUYQw88myyj-/s640/blogger-image-1667246365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzHcWJL69006Y2z8qdUGnKF5hldJzPaxpayGAWDj1e29t10rnq3ji3Rt8X0p0r_b_BSyZ8JxoNB6p8hDs4wE19dUTzbd5v8rDd8QY8lr-N5k1YaIP15wI4aT1c7R0YbTaInUYQw88myyj-/s640/blogger-image-1667246365.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Thank you to his sister, Song, for all the photos from his special day. We always begin our birthdays with decorations and presents and breakfast. This year, Alex went easy on me and asked for muffins...from the bakery. Sounded like a plan to me!</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1EbPrUcbiGkW_go9yxOZCY694vzZceaVtmllEuUa_r6RP3amURP857fLHzRLGGl7hM1PcKTOW-bCPAxIFMChdoDD-fA-0sUWUuoXJLjlRy3IvCCLcNQmlL5UX_O-UPPAMXibcaum3BM9/s640/blogger-image--423508054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1EbPrUcbiGkW_go9yxOZCY694vzZceaVtmllEuUa_r6RP3amURP857fLHzRLGGl7hM1PcKTOW-bCPAxIFMChdoDD-fA-0sUWUuoXJLjlRy3IvCCLcNQmlL5UX_O-UPPAMXibcaum3BM9/s640/blogger-image--423508054.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNItfDymOMMkKwU90P6SpvlQjz9A9RdkUU_JGGkm-MVmTl95DlvaSQtbVb6ts5LIT6JCHMJExfvXSUcATAFlEAPfHPrYj0PUldpYm24I63PJtjk5tj8F8yLbuDjunAbaA07USwKdSx4Uy/s640/blogger-image-693902432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNItfDymOMMkKwU90P6SpvlQjz9A9RdkUU_JGGkm-MVmTl95DlvaSQtbVb6ts5LIT6JCHMJExfvXSUcATAFlEAPfHPrYj0PUldpYm24I63PJtjk5tj8F8yLbuDjunAbaA07USwKdSx4Uy/s640/blogger-image-693902432.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBf6Znelk6dcLQutyuUV9NhaKq7WHSogHPJONzj6VYsjbd5xI4lWPDgj-0ux89i8MqtVLziQucIvzAJuaMnpLwuoF0xWS2a9zbvOZZf_C_ICfH5kndsCpfJ9qtHbAce1t9UUn-m5N6bLY2/s640/blogger-image--47063698.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBf6Znelk6dcLQutyuUV9NhaKq7WHSogHPJONzj6VYsjbd5xI4lWPDgj-0ux89i8MqtVLziQucIvzAJuaMnpLwuoF0xWS2a9zbvOZZf_C_ICfH5kndsCpfJ9qtHbAce1t9UUn-m5N6bLY2/s640/blogger-image--47063698.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Vera was pouting because Ella wouldn't cooperate. Seriously. It makes her mad! Longtime friends will note we have an extra kid...cousin Drew celebrated with us. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyAJNC9Cb974GPfm-Z3-PMSkAUZhfadwVNzKPPGA-9ecgOEDlylWbFjgtTHyNjWCXfbVSGnHPnrXSCdNVmpjZvko4_VcN-5fx67H7i_oLsGh7D3k4mYg-SGr8UQWYwqn9kRxpMFxNxUKk/s640/blogger-image--548039519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyAJNC9Cb974GPfm-Z3-PMSkAUZhfadwVNzKPPGA-9ecgOEDlylWbFjgtTHyNjWCXfbVSGnHPnrXSCdNVmpjZvko4_VcN-5fx67H7i_oLsGh7D3k4mYg-SGr8UQWYwqn9kRxpMFxNxUKk/s640/blogger-image--548039519.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alex had fun opening his gifts. He asked for lots of books, which was cool.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZGNFrVpuTcSwEDQ24LJdgLIhllGYFWdoyqcVkXZsMtcfZgIqP_1aQxxaaaiGKuASY2-ztWVxjFBqJZpB8HcVVqfcWPzU9dL5F9J5RcWoUa1XqejGsjNwEICvCLWZMzU4o2z7kj18se_b/s640/blogger-image-1345991768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZGNFrVpuTcSwEDQ24LJdgLIhllGYFWdoyqcVkXZsMtcfZgIqP_1aQxxaaaiGKuASY2-ztWVxjFBqJZpB8HcVVqfcWPzU9dL5F9J5RcWoUa1XqejGsjNwEICvCLWZMzU4o2z7kj18se_b/s640/blogger-image-1345991768.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Never a shortage of gift-opening supervisors in our home!</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4giGgxLLgANEUIKRtXvBIOKT1WSUvIyZN0DOa-KwJefCXDShFGLAdeGCdvCkrjVvAe9fseburCm_sjxE8zwgaB2aEFzNyblDli_5yVNWzhj3F6XyT-3VcE9f0-Fm-pMceBP7AwcJGhXF9/s640/blogger-image--108088219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4giGgxLLgANEUIKRtXvBIOKT1WSUvIyZN0DOa-KwJefCXDShFGLAdeGCdvCkrjVvAe9fseburCm_sjxE8zwgaB2aEFzNyblDli_5yVNWzhj3F6XyT-3VcE9f0-Fm-pMceBP7AwcJGhXF9/s640/blogger-image--108088219.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">His sister, Anna, got him some cool new shades! </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDwn3vs-8olqCzNOLfRmLwPY1QwgiEZR6OnbE5nDzE86tKLWSXwJnvK4_5j8eBu8VNC1IwPRdShc3dlBF0iCriA149PKPebm2VLKksT_9uR0e0iR4_nug3cIgZYnqN2WnKHxXhVGthehS/s640/blogger-image-1241777168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDwn3vs-8olqCzNOLfRmLwPY1QwgiEZR6OnbE5nDzE86tKLWSXwJnvK4_5j8eBu8VNC1IwPRdShc3dlBF0iCriA149PKPebm2VLKksT_9uR0e0iR4_nug3cIgZYnqN2WnKHxXhVGthehS/s640/blogger-image-1241777168.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZZNQZyBIv5kPXv8J0945QtV1oCW9-UL3rHUz9f_XNnTBknDHn-IxLUeOflWNtTWY2B6lNAGEv31EN3VsfI4gIjUTaqStC1PK-CkLKx2POsltgVLsCcoBHjwAn9rr7qpOIWQ3vjmTHugo/s640/blogger-image--1716064588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZZNQZyBIv5kPXv8J0945QtV1oCW9-UL3rHUz9f_XNnTBknDHn-IxLUeOflWNtTWY2B6lNAGEv31EN3VsfI4gIjUTaqStC1PK-CkLKx2POsltgVLsCcoBHjwAn9rr7qpOIWQ3vjmTHugo/s640/blogger-image--1716064588.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-lJBpIYUn4DtmTIasjpAdl-4wnG9WozGDFfcmPK4yJDY7ZIVqRRN8Z1W4zzBl0UbSY58c1AEXNXTJGgqOaCOxb1cZ7gpG0HX1N4Js450H6MxmPpFDkOrDJfJlSMOiT3Ypg_xqtGy6RKY/s640/blogger-image-237137911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-lJBpIYUn4DtmTIasjpAdl-4wnG9WozGDFfcmPK4yJDY7ZIVqRRN8Z1W4zzBl0UbSY58c1AEXNXTJGgqOaCOxb1cZ7gpG0HX1N4Js450H6MxmPpFDkOrDJfJlSMOiT3Ypg_xqtGy6RKY/s640/blogger-image-237137911.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alex has become a bit of a photographer in his own right, so we had three of his coolest pictures printed on canvas, and they are now proudly displayed over his bed. He was so surprised! That was a fun gift to give! My favorite picture is definitely the one, above, with three sets of his eyes. I love his creativity.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2y8KgBRigpEOeGUkrem80hrB4_5oIaAEeOSnu_3PGluQ2PmVNlpR1Yu-gCbF2BuwpDo-A5M1ToA2gZvWbZ88uyOTLJEpRQKAnC3BCcaVL0ckOzISmAEtvxTBQm5tlcfFHwhV1Xg0Bilq-/s640/blogger-image-1939812479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2y8KgBRigpEOeGUkrem80hrB4_5oIaAEeOSnu_3PGluQ2PmVNlpR1Yu-gCbF2BuwpDo-A5M1ToA2gZvWbZ88uyOTLJEpRQKAnC3BCcaVL0ckOzISmAEtvxTBQm5tlcfFHwhV1Xg0Bilq-/s640/blogger-image-1939812479.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Opening a special gift from his dad.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNkXcEjuuMqebUE18E9g5hfYy5CU7EfVR7g_qToyNdMFADxD5H5jNMFnXRA2tZ47MT-5IgAkoVhsgqNUPh90SARi_cMtku_XvccgB8gz1bXggiAVUDdvSV8YA7eQLi3efebo4QL914NY9R/s640/blogger-image-423220968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNkXcEjuuMqebUE18E9g5hfYy5CU7EfVR7g_qToyNdMFADxD5H5jNMFnXRA2tZ47MT-5IgAkoVhsgqNUPh90SARi_cMtku_XvccgB8gz1bXggiAVUDdvSV8YA7eQLi3efebo4QL914NY9R/s640/blogger-image-423220968.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Trying to decide who the photo bomber is in this picture...Anna, or Alex's eye looming over them both!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iZcUgQytXF2QsVcPHSq8Cui-6VEg4hj1eIe6RojOAJJLQDh9peB9z5AXSk_wh67nDCNUzaUWHOshDLqoWQuBKbyGKjghYloODj7_ayxo__Obj2pFVib9UUaBiiJEJU7KZaznAj255n8_/s640/blogger-image--1430221787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iZcUgQytXF2QsVcPHSq8Cui-6VEg4hj1eIe6RojOAJJLQDh9peB9z5AXSk_wh67nDCNUzaUWHOshDLqoWQuBKbyGKjghYloODj7_ayxo__Obj2pFVib9UUaBiiJEJU7KZaznAj255n8_/s640/blogger-image--1430221787.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I definitely know who the photo bomber is in this picture! </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qTmlHqtfekb9Cx8ZZIIpEPAxXTHFbYr_i856EGB5kzjO-FJor-xvKnVNLnh00ib5LF3ge9Sd3OxTkdC2lFsBqAwPNxsKBBqLvNX-paxrVfMiEIMAQjeH96mh7HgVWr4cVi57Hpw_VS8v/s640/blogger-image-430765087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qTmlHqtfekb9Cx8ZZIIpEPAxXTHFbYr_i856EGB5kzjO-FJor-xvKnVNLnh00ib5LF3ge9Sd3OxTkdC2lFsBqAwPNxsKBBqLvNX-paxrVfMiEIMAQjeH96mh7HgVWr4cVi57Hpw_VS8v/s640/blogger-image-430765087.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We celebrated with most of the extended family...Italian food and then Alex asked for Black Forest Cake as his birthday dessert. His grandmother brought one from a bakery in Fort Worth that is famous for them, and his sister Song made one...all from scratch. It was amazing! </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJjteiJ6pX4UBux_r2aPz_aR3jH1jCjZPKoAg30f2NizcqZ452T_g2jWVM4ROfw31mWHg3679zDIRtYSyQrkN-bCtUUe9NNVtRaDZERnX7vVIUQT3t_wbFEudjYnftftXShaN9S9zpOSk/s640/blogger-image-663502864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJjteiJ6pX4UBux_r2aPz_aR3jH1jCjZPKoAg30f2NizcqZ452T_g2jWVM4ROfw31mWHg3679zDIRtYSyQrkN-bCtUUe9NNVtRaDZERnX7vVIUQT3t_wbFEudjYnftftXShaN9S9zpOSk/s640/blogger-image-663502864.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alex was trying not to blow the chocolate shavings off the bigger cake, hence his interesting angle! a fun time was had by all!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Happy 18th Birthday, Alexander! </div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-63988866560800550132013-06-11T06:47:00.001-07:002013-06-11T06:47:03.466-07:00Little Boy FuSong got a new lens for "our" camera and took her very cute little brother ((the child fka Fu TianSuo) out for a photo shoot. I love the results. I'm so glad she loves to photograph her siblings for me! <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbm_Ar846zH3IjKfa6seykk_QSBsKQ7r43w9bzsBfQzlS15UwN-3ieBdBxrLkjxlC13OHTDqyOr_JOkWyacW_OPtyFfFMoNUG-CVruzz3X5AVQ7Cn6IQR_JLeV8EXiD7ihUUzaeT3wWMs/s640/blogger-image--1457895870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbm_Ar846zH3IjKfa6seykk_QSBsKQ7r43w9bzsBfQzlS15UwN-3ieBdBxrLkjxlC13OHTDqyOr_JOkWyacW_OPtyFfFMoNUG-CVruzz3X5AVQ7Cn6IQR_JLeV8EXiD7ihUUzaeT3wWMs/s640/blogger-image--1457895870.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKRiRAfXkEdBONXOgLlsDcgQKgUBKpbsDG98ffZXMLqi8DovKvgqiTCApwIIvnUS1Fqe4EnmI0KZqV1-D-cXvzYNnimig6aCEk-aKpDdipjVjSMTom0Z1lo3hOtwKlpeK5_2rIqB92Sy8/s640/blogger-image-719710615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKRiRAfXkEdBONXOgLlsDcgQKgUBKpbsDG98ffZXMLqi8DovKvgqiTCApwIIvnUS1Fqe4EnmI0KZqV1-D-cXvzYNnimig6aCEk-aKpDdipjVjSMTom0Z1lo3hOtwKlpeK5_2rIqB92Sy8/s640/blogger-image-719710615.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Fierce, huh? This is our favorite. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdBkOSqirHXQJ3rVQmYvBLViw7vtFp1HrnQ9ZgVwuu7p2V2f7EtxiJEuqGsFhACX2AUxINXiQ4ybSGm0_2iGUmyRpczYacUJzWHBYHlZrRCYh7MWhQDN5-penNOh-tioZUrxnqLDsoObf/s640/blogger-image-1155597197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdBkOSqirHXQJ3rVQmYvBLViw7vtFp1HrnQ9ZgVwuu7p2V2f7EtxiJEuqGsFhACX2AUxINXiQ4ybSGm0_2iGUmyRpczYacUJzWHBYHlZrRCYh7MWhQDN5-penNOh-tioZUrxnqLDsoObf/s640/blogger-image-1155597197.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love how the pictures capture his funny and squirrelly personality. These are all moves he likes to perform during church. With a big white program in his hand. While the sermon is being preached. As we sit on the second row. That's my boy!</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwm61lS8WZgkhMbHreAFf-FcI6RuNMS_N4z2WJPTfnK7-oeIYEXyxA_0nNBkPxgH_qha0bggovuO2ZUXdOjpHxL0D4Gujc0YgcNkaaE6yxmrpRBoFGIWvwYIHleaaj54-1nvKe0ZYgf0i2/s640/blogger-image-171303374.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwm61lS8WZgkhMbHreAFf-FcI6RuNMS_N4z2WJPTfnK7-oeIYEXyxA_0nNBkPxgH_qha0bggovuO2ZUXdOjpHxL0D4Gujc0YgcNkaaE6yxmrpRBoFGIWvwYIHleaaj54-1nvKe0ZYgf0i2/s640/blogger-image-171303374.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa_zkq4nOGUV2jYSMiGk5OYqmdZ1WEaaIFGdzLyCZ0Vu-nOWCfbHFYj3DzsUhouJ2W8E7oKghQTQuKEDKieZrJnabOe0UXj0q-eftqdv6OZbjNv20SpU9Jd6kPTfJlngMfZaWfddNgd3E/s640/blogger-image-1463562186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa_zkq4nOGUV2jYSMiGk5OYqmdZ1WEaaIFGdzLyCZ0Vu-nOWCfbHFYj3DzsUhouJ2W8E7oKghQTQuKEDKieZrJnabOe0UXj0q-eftqdv6OZbjNv20SpU9Jd6kPTfJlngMfZaWfddNgd3E/s640/blogger-image-1463562186.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOisgNVjA6B6stt6VYHroZaX-4aJkRXCHIkJc-vBQmTMy1sGb-MsdMAKE1OjqumHqapQTKVZnFqjbcatFu5bD8Jsn3VQvrLQxyoKAVIem7FFxMO8uTEJcRwnI5LhxCKKWnfK31QWNL2UWB/s640/blogger-image-1129943566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOisgNVjA6B6stt6VYHroZaX-4aJkRXCHIkJc-vBQmTMy1sGb-MsdMAKE1OjqumHqapQTKVZnFqjbcatFu5bD8Jsn3VQvrLQxyoKAVIem7FFxMO8uTEJcRwnI5LhxCKKWnfK31QWNL2UWB/s640/blogger-image-1129943566.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_osBs4xCksp1ufhIngbrVi42uX9XeWf0KjZrVAxRfrPLIXGKQAkA0H9ufmDjSEZbFlqkriwKD-XA44gUqb68JJWhacUaRspquG0wFr0CYAfJoCT31FsN7isn9AM3k4f-0TR7Qe8QstSZm/s640/blogger-image-1180746695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_osBs4xCksp1ufhIngbrVi42uX9XeWf0KjZrVAxRfrPLIXGKQAkA0H9ufmDjSEZbFlqkriwKD-XA44gUqb68JJWhacUaRspquG0wFr0CYAfJoCT31FsN7isn9AM3k4f-0TR7Qe8QstSZm/s640/blogger-image-1180746695.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXiDFlSSEwPk4g37N5Cwck9IcnP2bariET57wHcWTzvtYUYvVAOGZrQFbpf3OQrRrY34FT8u4mEZspYpvjRhgphVrK5yyGMypfXIYkxNk8paV5CebPI-ygnF_Oxii1mFrzELTZ8wBZfkQ/s640/blogger-image-1590669950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXiDFlSSEwPk4g37N5Cwck9IcnP2bariET57wHcWTzvtYUYvVAOGZrQFbpf3OQrRrY34FT8u4mEZspYpvjRhgphVrK5yyGMypfXIYkxNk8paV5CebPI-ygnF_Oxii1mFrzELTZ8wBZfkQ/s640/blogger-image-1590669950.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He is such a handsome boy. We are blessed to have him as our son, wiggling in church and all.</div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-53315059825905059272013-05-25T16:32:00.001-07:002013-05-25T16:32:13.196-07:00Cervical spine surgery success--sort of<div>So, as I mentioned a few days ago, I had surgery. I'm home now. It's been a fun few days. Let me elaborate.</div><div><br></div><div>I had a pain pump at the hospital. This turned out to be a mistake for a few different reasons. </div><div><br></div><div>1) shortly after surgery I was in a lot of pain and I *thought* the nurse said she was switching me to a different type of pain med that would be in pill form. Turns out...notsomuch...meaning that I didn't have pain meds at all for quite some time. Fun!</div><div><br></div><div>2) once that little debacle was rectified, we were back to my general lack of love for the pain pump, because it only delivers tiny amounts of pain medication at any one time, rather than a decent wallop that knocks you out for a while and moves you on down the road to recovery without your having to be aware of the trip. </div><div><br></div><div>3) which brings us full circle to today. I kept noticing that I had a very sore spot right in the middle of my forehead. I asked John several times if he had any idea why that might be...I had visions of being restrained during the surgery...falling out of the hospital bed...what could it be?</div><div><br></div><div>John finally pinpointed the source of my soreness: during one of my rants about the pain pump, I had decided to give that pain pump a piece of my mind, errr, forehead, and used said forehead to deliver just the right amount of pain medicine. Yeah. So that worked. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ahhm5PvKAxMNqJWvjzFiJuRnXy1CpQ_I2Nqk6czhpy_nUldIKW0qrcc5s1nTFNjL3InQQ_PF5If8MFnjtmYzDDadEo0GAya3ssBduIk10m94rg5aWbZZE1bZTlb3b2x6OvJNa76J5onD/s640/blogger-image--1835582080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ahhm5PvKAxMNqJWvjzFiJuRnXy1CpQ_I2Nqk6czhpy_nUldIKW0qrcc5s1nTFNjL3InQQ_PF5If8MFnjtmYzDDadEo0GAya3ssBduIk10m94rg5aWbZZE1bZTlb3b2x6OvJNa76J5onD/s640/blogger-image--1835582080.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As mentioned, I'm home now. Home with Vicodin and Valium and steroids, food from friends, kids, and an Arrested Development marathon. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Adios pain pump. You may have won round 1, but I'm ready for you next time. I have an extra piece of bone in my neck now with your name on it!</div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-30599332254659317802013-05-25T13:08:00.000-07:002013-05-25T14:58:20.990-07:00Guest Post--John, my belovedI have a ministry with a group of men. I recently had a man ask a profound question posed along the lines of a parable. It went something like this. A man loved his son. His son was rebellious. Yet, the father continued to love the son very much. The son did not listen to the advice of the father. The son was thrown into prison. The father visited his son even in prison, though the son wanted nothing to do with him. Yet, the father continued to say that he loved the son.<br>
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Here, the parable took a turn. The man looked at me and asked, “How could a loving God ever send His own child to Hell to be tormented forever? What kind of love is that? This is what I don’t understand.”<br>
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I remarked that the question was a sound one. I further suggested that I am not sure that I have a complete answer. My answer is incomplete because the mind of God is so far above my mind. I reasoned that the answer is found in the unrelenting revelation of the glory of God and that I have a limited understanding of the underpinning of such glory.<br>
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The following is a nutshell of the conversation that ensued in the 15 minutes we spent together. I wish my explanation was better but, as mentioned, I am limited to my human understanding. First, the premise of the question seems backward to me. After all, that son in prison wanted nothing to do with the father. In fact, the son preferred prison over a relationship with the father. Yet, the focus of the question is the perceived negative reaction of the father to the son rather than the choice the son has made to sever his relationship with the father.<br>
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Certainly, the father was within his right to completely terminate the relationship that only he was pursuing. The son had proved over and over again that he hated the father and wanted nothing to do with the father. The father could have walked away and allowed the son to enjoy his prison cell forever. That is, the son was choosing his own Hell over a relationship with his father.<br>
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Yet, God did not choose to ordain a permanent prison sentence. He continued to pursue the relationship even in the midst of undeserved rejection. This severed relationship could be restored only through a restoration of the righteousness of the one in prison. Why is this? It is because it is impossible for unrighteousness (that is, sin) to dwell with righteousness (that is, God). Therefore, sin must be made righteous or the sinner is forever imprisoned. The prison sentence is a permanently severed relationship.<br>
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How is it possible for the rebellious convict to be made righteous and to be set free? It is impossible for the man in prison for he cannot free himself. The walls around his cell are real indeed. Yet the father, though innocent of the crime, saw an opportunity to take the punishment of the crime on behalf of the son. That is the father, instead of terminating the relationship, sought opportunity to pursue and conditionally restore the relationship.<br>
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Do you see what happened? God Himself became the prisoner. He was executed for the crime. The criminal (sinner) is set free because the punishment for the crime was paid by Him who is innocent. An innocent creative God of the universe was tormented so that the guilty created of the universe could be set free. This freedom allows the one formerly imprisoned to once again enjoy His God forever. Is this not a perfect example of a loving father?<br>
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Further, does this not reshape the original question into the following? “How could God ever send His own Son to Hell on earth to save the likes of us? What kind of love is that? This is what I don’t understand.” <br>
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Yet, the original question must be addressed for complete fairness. That son in prison knows that his father is willing to take the punishment of the crime that the son committed, thus enabling the son to be set free. The son, however, scoffs at the father and resolutely determines that he prefers his prison. <br>
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So, here is my incomplete answer to the question posed. The love of the father remains pure and unimaginable in the midst of the son’s rebellion. The son’s rebellion is unimaginable, and yet somehow sublimely common, in the midst of the unrelenting love of the father. It is the very hatred wrapped in the rebellion of the son that opens the door to Hell. The son, in effect, smugly sits in Hell because he eschewed the permanent love of the father in exchange for the temporary self-pursuit of the son.<br>
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Romans 5:8 – But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-30187385693617333062013-05-21T18:25:00.003-07:002013-05-21T18:25:52.096-07:00OkonomiyakiI'm doing it again! Blogging twice in a day? Blogging about food two days in a row? I wasn't even going to prepare these Japanese vegetable pancakes tonight, but...well...I didn't realize the ribs I planned to make needed to sit with the dry rub on them for 12 hours. I discovered this delightful fact at 4 pm. Oops!<br />
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Lucky for us, I had already purchased the key ingredients for this delightful dish at the local Farmer's market. Tonight, I went a little bit crazy and took actual pictures of the food as I prepared it...with my phone. Well, I took pictures with my phone. I didn't prepare the food with my phone, although on many nights that would be a good explanation for what I made. </div>
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On to the food, you say? Let's!</div>
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First, the vegetables: shaved ribbons of carrots, thinly sliced red onions (substituted for scallions), kale, green cabbage, and baby bok choy (added just because) as pictured, below. Doesn't that look fresh and yummy? I think it would make a great salad with some tomatoes.</div>
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To that, I added a cup of gluten-free, all purpose flour because Miss Emma has celiac disease and needs to be gluten free. I tossed the veggies with flour to coat them...not quite as fresh and yummy looking now, BUT...</div>
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BACON!!!! No, that wasn't in the original recipe, but...BACON!!! I had six pieces left from the BLT salad last night and decided to use the rest to add a little kick to the veggies. I think this is a must if you have a family like mine, who all think I'm being abusive to them if supper doesn't include meat</div>
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Let's detour to my little side dish which is Dean's favorite thing in the world to eat: fruit salad. (I'm using Blogger's iPad app and can't quite discern any way to change the picture order nor to make a hyper link...)</div>
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Back to the pancakes. I added the crumbled bacon. I know you might be confused when you look at the picture below, but that's what I did. Cooked it, drained it on paper towels, crumbled it, put it on the veggies. Still confused? Yeah. I thought not. I am the master of explanations. </div>
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Now,I'm sure I don't need to tell you, my amazing reader, just what happened next. It's immediately obvious that I lightly beat a dozen eggs and stirred them into the veggie/BACON/Flour mixture, right? Sure!</div>
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This next step was fun...making the sauce to drizzle over the pancakes, NOT the fruit salad. This involved whisking together ketchup, Dijon mustard, Worcester sauce, honey, GF soy sauce, etc... Oh look! It's the web page with a picture of the finished product. Not MY finished product, mind you. I mean, they got pretty close and stuff so let's not be too hard on her. </div>
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Oh look! MY finished product, resting on my well-used stone pan before warming in the oven while I finish the batter.<br />
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And on a melamine plate many of you may remember seeing at Target last summer, we have Vera's meal. I mean, not this exact plate, unless you live in my same small town AND read my blog. Hi, Alynn! </div>
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So, did it pass the Spicer test? Indeed! Not a bite was left. The kids said they could taste the veggies, and that was a good thing! I thought the bacon added a lot for such a small amount. The sauce seemed almost like BBQ sauce, so next time I might use more soy sauce and ginger. It was a really easy item to prepare and cook and make gluten-free, so I believe we will do it again!</div>
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As noted in the website from which I took this recipe, the combinations for veggies and even meats are almost endless: </div>
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http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2013/05/japanese-cabbage-and-vegetable-pancakes/<br />
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For all of you who have made it to the end of my second (last?) cooking blog post (hi, Alynn!), I won't be on for a while because I am having neck surgery (discectomy, etc.) in the morning. I really don't have a sense for how long my recovery might take, so I'll see you on the flip side!! All prayers are deeply appreciated!</div>
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The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-91153026349197437682013-05-21T13:20:00.001-07:002013-05-21T13:20:00.274-07:00Small town storiesWe live in a smallish town. Not tiny (about 28,000 people) but definitely smaller and much different in feel than the larger city of Fort Worth in which I was raised. <div><br></div><div>Because we live on 30 acres, our home has a rural feel, although it is at the end of a neighborhood of homes on about an acre each. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBkfcN_hqUUYkzb-xH6RaAgmmBeiwO8dYhP0zEVK_QzfF-04Gk8RfiUv0Bt3hSnw7sABJq1MgbOhiK2_kc9AuMmRwYpRsdssndTZGrjf1XbJSkQoDlUuJCazCGxF84guXf5EbYxlGEiPN/s640/blogger-image--744719267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBkfcN_hqUUYkzb-xH6RaAgmmBeiwO8dYhP0zEVK_QzfF-04Gk8RfiUv0Bt3hSnw7sABJq1MgbOhiK2_kc9AuMmRwYpRsdssndTZGrjf1XbJSkQoDlUuJCazCGxF84guXf5EbYxlGEiPN/s640/blogger-image--744719267.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Vera petting our horse, Hachie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The "downtown" has some restored buildings that are fun to see and visit.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0p0f7cTBnde5lLAmOrsbnjZQejiuWzfDjN6S1wy_UtbzAXPJwugC3R00gU_pFqiVN2qxAlvx46JIEl2Q8bDTy3iGLxrgOV3zH5pqjAUGOfvGXJnufgAuUXslDpqDM0_cYXZKLazfkNl0/s640/blogger-image-763235156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0p0f7cTBnde5lLAmOrsbnjZQejiuWzfDjN6S1wy_UtbzAXPJwugC3R00gU_pFqiVN2qxAlvx46JIEl2Q8bDTy3iGLxrgOV3zH5pqjAUGOfvGXJnufgAuUXslDpqDM0_cYXZKLazfkNl0/s640/blogger-image-763235156.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A cute little restored depot by the train tracks, across from the weekly Farmer's Market that I frequent and where I am well-known by a few vendors. Small wonder, given the large number of people I feed!</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nIQL83z0zVyiqxfx3Cu4dkVOyhvZgOW01okvGdKQy7p_mfRfs7AvTbxpeQCVXWpYbTGDc_bC5TfZezC7CoY6wcbNepnhe6p_qA-DugBppGpxNnVQ3fLJT8gZhvHWH9pc-nfI6Iu5dmsL/s640/blogger-image--1268503237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nIQL83z0zVyiqxfx3Cu4dkVOyhvZgOW01okvGdKQy7p_mfRfs7AvTbxpeQCVXWpYbTGDc_bC5TfZezC7CoY6wcbNepnhe6p_qA-DugBppGpxNnVQ3fLJT8gZhvHWH9pc-nfI6Iu5dmsL/s640/blogger-image--1268503237.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our town is known for its gingerbread houses. We used to live on the same street as this house and the one below. Aren't they adorable? We were renting a much smaller restored home, but it was really great, too.</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3fNJf7gy0DeEnPwlIsURpozETKFy6-5zjkg6TDtKR8FDODU_Nij9K4co8wpe0-DcT7uCUJcuiHF25WOKb1QkII-llhQSyMJVJDOoQhygv7MlgtSfbvAh99R2XAyzG8LZ8nyYLa0KAk_t/s640/blogger-image-1077540275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3fNJf7gy0DeEnPwlIsURpozETKFy6-5zjkg6TDtKR8FDODU_Nij9K4co8wpe0-DcT7uCUJcuiHF25WOKb1QkII-llhQSyMJVJDOoQhygv7MlgtSfbvAh99R2XAyzG8LZ8nyYLa0KAk_t/s640/blogger-image-1077540275.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yesterday, the small town quality of our town was brought home to me in a new and kind of funny way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our dryer has been on the blink for a while. As you can imagine, this is tragic for a family of our size. I had it fixed a few months ago, then the same thing happened again. When it was fixed the first time, the repairman said he thought we would need to have the vent cleaned or it would happen again. So, yeah, he was right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Ok, who cleans dryer vents? I discussed matters with my brother-in-law, a local doctor. He is the resource for everything local, and is plenty smart besides. He decided to have his newest handyman, Jesus, take his leaf blower and use it to blow out our dryer vent. He messaged me Jesus's number...no last name, so now as I scroll down my contact list it appear as though I have Jesus on speed dial. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Turns out, Jesus maintains the washers and dryers at the local laundromat, so he was well able to attend to the needs of our dryer. He wasn't planning to come over, though, so he kept having to borrow tools from us. He and his wife had been working at my BIL's house a couple of doors down, a fact that I first learned when he made his wife come down and clean up the mess he made when he blew out the vent--from the attic into my house! It blew around a corner and a good 30-35 feet into my living room! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I further found it out when he asked to borrow a bike to go get his tools out of his truck. How many times have you had your handyman ask to borrow your bike? Of course, we only had Vera's bike handy! Didn't bother him...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Finally, I found out when he asked me to take him to the appliance shop to get a part because his wife had taken their truck home and it was too close to closing time to wait on her. If I hadn't had to pay for the part, I would have just let him drive my 12 passenger van (Jesus, take the wheeeeeeel). I can assure you, he would have returned it! When we left the shop, he asked me to drop him off at his house so he could get his truck. Seriously. And I did it! Why not? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So there you have it: life in our smallish town where leaf blowers are community property and doctors are key people to know and Jesus rides your bike.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Y'all come back now, y'hear!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-58645950123045558992013-05-20T19:29:00.002-07:002013-05-20T19:29:38.538-07:00Smashing Supper SuccessOK, clearly a pod person has taken over this blog...two days in a row? Really, Jill?<br />
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Yes, really, generic blog reader who NEVER COMMENTS ANYMORE.<br />
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Not that I'm bitter. I couldn't be...not after making this fabulous supper tonight!<br />
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Now, let's just be straight up about the whole business of Jill and cooking and fabulosity: I follow recipes pretty well. I can even tweak and change recipes pretty well. I don't, however, come up with completely new and different recipes, so if you're looking for that you'll need to look elsewhere. Plus, I'm pretty sure no one is here looking for recipes anyway, so we're good. We're good.<br />
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So what was this fabulous dinner? Honestly, it was only soup and salad. <br />
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<a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/butternut-squash-soup-50400000123178/&usg=AFQjCNGLp5aB5WyL8wfU3yDTuevRFRmjPw" target="_blank">The soup? Butternut Squash soup from Southern Living's 2012 Annual Recipes cookbook. </a><br />
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Butternut squash, carrots, slightly carmelized onions, cream, honey, vinegar...yum! Use your stick blender and it's a breeze to get a huge pot of creamy yumminess with a little bit of kick. Spicer kids approved!<br />
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<a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/blt-salad-50400000122167/" target="_blank">The salad? BLT Salad, also from Southern Living's 2012 Annual Recipes cookbook.</a><br />
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Oh my! Salady perfection! Arugula, bacon, heirloom tomatoes, bacon, tangy dressing, bacon, onions cooked in bacon drippings, bacon! The recipe calls for artisan bread slices but I used challah from the grocery store bakery. We otherwise followed the recipe for this, too. Other than Anna, who doesn't like bacon (we don't know where she came from), this recipe was also Spicer kid approved. <br />
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So...generic blog reader, if you're like me,the bad blog writer, always in need of supper ideas...here's, y'know...one. Or lunch, if this doesn't seem meaty enough for you and you don't mind taking a really long time to cook lunch. Frankly, I do. Mind, that is. So...supper, for us. <br />
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Happy cooking! Happy eating! Happy rare two days in a row of blogging to me!The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-55159823783460525212013-05-19T17:53:00.001-07:002013-05-19T17:53:11.318-07:00My daughterI took the girls to a swimming party today, but Ella wouldn't swim--it was too cold. She let me know the same way she lets me know a lot of things, by signing or pantomime. She still speaks very infrequently. So today at the pool, she wrapped her cute little brown arms around herself and shivered, even as she positioned herself poolside and screamed her displeasure when cold water splashed her again and again. Typical behavior for a kid with sensory issues, I thought to myself for what seemed like the 1000th time.<div><br></div><div>Eventually, we ended up sharing a chair and I whipped out my phone to capture the moment. Ella enjoyed looking at herself and Mommy in the phone as I snapped our picture, as she saw me mimicking her, as she saw herself hamming it up. We both giggled a lot. When we got home, I had fun making a photo collage and posting it on Facebook.</div><div><br></div><div>As I returned to look at it a couple of times, the enormity of it hit me: when she became my daughter, I really had no idea if moments like these would ever happen, could ever happen. When she became my daughter, legally that is, she was so shut down yet combative that her father and I thought her likely to be on the autism spectrum. She simply didn't respond to much of anything. Her deep dark eyes hid her soul rather than revealing it. </div><div><br></div><div>But</div><div><br></div><div>Month by month, year by year, she opened up, she blossomed, she became our daughter, emotionally that is. We no longer think she may be on the spectrum but instead realize that her sensory issues at times cause the world to be a difficult place for her to navigate. One thing she consistently and beautifully navigates, however, is her Mommy's heart. She knows now, deeply knows, how loved she is.</div><div><br></div><div>So today, when I held up a camera for some self portraits it showed more than I thought it would: it showed a miracle. The pictures show a girl who learned to love and trust and show love and and mirror facial cues when words wouldn't work. Oh, and it showed Ella, too. </div><div><br></div><div>Above all, it shows a mother and a daughter, hamming it up for the camera, arms around each other, laughing in the Texas sun. </div><div><br></div><div>And above all that? Love, pure and simple.</div><div><br></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbSsp_DfYTUAOAAEW3mjB0k_QOWLz-11yGe8kFhXo4shI4vDZzrL_rRZvxypryCNlz83orJMKwyRofOBbSyG02gz3MKPab80DrECwnqGrM8Nz0VYIFZW4RxnI57hd8K6k4X9sBTF7KG3mm/s640/blogger-image-850369918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbSsp_DfYTUAOAAEW3mjB0k_QOWLz-11yGe8kFhXo4shI4vDZzrL_rRZvxypryCNlz83orJMKwyRofOBbSyG02gz3MKPab80DrECwnqGrM8Nz0VYIFZW4RxnI57hd8K6k4X9sBTF7KG3mm/s640/blogger-image-850369918.jpg"></a></div></div></div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-53148828131841012002013-05-14T09:46:00.001-07:002013-05-14T09:46:27.970-07:00A Pain in The Neck, Fear, and Being Hemmed InI<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); "> awakened one recent morning in pain, a familiar pain between my shoulder blade and spinal column. I thought, with my vast storehouse of medical wisdom, that I just needed some muscle relaxers and it would go away. It's worked before; it will work again, right?</span><div><br></div><div>Notsomuch.</div><div><br></div><div>I graduated to what I call "The Nightmarish Night of Vicodin". I would take one, fall into an uncomfortable sleep for a couple of hours, then awaken to pain that seemed to be increasing. At 6 a.m., after spending most of the night on the couch trying not to wake John (who was recovering from knee surgery), I collapsed on him in a sobbing heap of frustration because I just couldn't escape the increasingly unbearable pain. (We are quite the fun couple these days!) </div><div><br></div><div>That prompted my sweet doctor to prescribe a med for nerve pain (that worked and is still working, thankfully), a steroid (that didn't help, but made me very happy and chatty), and an MRI. The results of the MRI led me to a neurosurgeon and will soon lead to surgery because my neck is a mess! Actually, one of the biggest concerns is that the tricep on my left side is not working properly and the fingers on my left hand have lost sensitivity--some of them can't feel pinpricks anymore. Weird, huh? Evidently, if you don't get that fixed you could suffer permanent loss of function.</div><div><br></div><div>When I saw the neurosurgeon the first time, he naturally went over the results of the first MRI with us. In addition to the bulging discs and intervertebral foraminal stenosis, I also had a mysterious white spot in my spinal cord. He ordered another MRI, this time with contrast dye to rule out a tumor and he was also concerned I might have multiple sclerosis. I was under the impression that those were the only two options, that "everything is fine" was not anything I would ever hear. He had his nurse set up an MRI and an office visit on his next day in the office...five days away.</div><div><br></div><div>Can I just say: that was brutal! It felt like an awful sort of Sophie's Choice. Did I want a tumor that may need to be removed from within my spinal cord, possibly leaving me paralyzed for life, or did I want a chronic condition with unexpected twists and turns? </div><div><br></div><div>As we waited for the day of the MRI to arrive, the verses that kept coming to my mind were from Psalm 139. As a mom to kids with special needs, these are familiar verses to me: </div><div><br></div><div>I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. Psalm 139:14-16 </div><div><br></div><div>Those are always the verses applied to kids born with things like Down syndrome, and appropriately so, I believe.</div><div><br></div><div>The verses of that Psalm that I particularly thought of, however, were 5-6a: </div><div><br></div><div>You hem me in--behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me...</div><div><br></div><div>I picture God, my Heavenly Father, surrounding me. Of course, He is always there, isn't He? Still, at certain moments it is wonderful to think of Him as more vividly present, in front of us, around us, behind us, letting nothing into our lives that isn't in accordance with His will for us. It is wonderful to know that for my good and His glory, He brought me to a place where I truly thought my health would be permanently affected and I could be placed into deep dependence on those around me...on Him. </div><div><br></div><div>Yet through those days my greatest comfort came from verse five as I heard God speaking to my frightened heart over and over: </div><div><br></div><div>Jill...I've got your back.</div><div><br></div><div>And so He does. The spot turned out to be nothing, but even had it been something I would still know He hems me in, behind and before, because nothing could tear God, our beautifully protective Father, away from us. </div><div><br></div><div>He's got your back, too. </div>The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-37985092549363073292013-04-17T18:26:00.001-07:002013-04-23T05:42:16.368-07:00Two years...80 pounds...wowI have rarely posted pictures of myself on this blog. I'm obviously not a stickler for privacy. I am simply prideful. I didn't want/need reminders of my failed weight battles. I would much prefer to show pictures of my beautiful children anyway, or so I told myself.<br />
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I don't want to post this, but...<br />
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I have this longtime online friend named Trish, see? Two years ago, unbeknownst to each other, we started our own weight loss journeys exactly one day apart, April 27th and 28th. She keeps posting her before picture on facebook, reminding others of her 151 pounds lost (seriously!) and inspiring the ladies she LEADS in exercise classes to keep plugging away, to never give up, to just start now. And she puts me to shame. <br />
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The thing is, in 2011 I lost 80 pounds and have kept it off ever since then. I love how I feel now. I can't even really put it into words just how great I feel, just how much easier it is to move through the world, to be me, to have an even temper (ok, relatively speaking), to have energy that lasts all day, to exercise and parent and cross my legs and buy clothes and heck...just to walk in heels! I love heels! I love not being controlled by my weight anymore.<br />
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I want to pretend I have been this way my whole adult life, but the opposite is mostly true. I want to pretend that I could always get to the top of a staircase without huffing and puffing, but that isn't true, either. I want to pretend that I've had these size 8 jeans for years, and not the size 20 stretchy pants that I wore the last few years as my weight really exploded.<br />
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But<br />
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As much as I might like it to be, life isn't always and only about me. It might be about one of you, about offering you hope that change is possible. It might be that you and I need to look at my "before" pictures with some love and grace and know that I was covering up some hurts and have now peeled them off...mostly. We need to take an honest look and acknowledge that I wasn't healthy. We also need to take an honest look and see that I am still essentially me. I was funny and sarcastic before...I am funny and sarcastic now. Some things endure.<br />
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And because someone will ask, this is how I did it: I had gastric sleeve surgery. Yup. I did. I had weeks of protein shakes, months of high protein/low carb, and 18 months of keeping it off. I'm really proud of those 18 months, matter of fact. I started exercising and kept at it in one way or another. I even ran in my first 5K lately. My son Luke beat me by 7.5 minutes and I don't care...I'm still proud! So maybe I took the easier way out by having surgery, but once the easy part was over I've stuck with the harder part, the maintenance part, the get out there and exercise because now you CAN part. <br />
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So<br />
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I'm sharing my pictures. Ugh. The two collage pictures span about two months from left to right, starting with the day before surgery (and I had already lost 14 lbs. the week before surgery so I actually looked even worse than the first picture on the left). The next picture (with John) is from about 6 months out, and the rest are from a year to two years post-op. So yeah, I'm laying the weight loss pictures on thick, to make myself feel better, hoping those are the pictures people remember. But honestly, I know better, and I'm sharing it anyway. <br />
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Trish, my love, this is for us! Congratulations on two years of working that weight off the hard way, for continuing to inspire me with your workouts, and your tenacity, and your tenderness toward those who are just getting started...knowing we are looking to you as our inspirational rock star! <br />
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And...Happy Anniversary!! A workout and a small steak should just hit the spot, right? <br />
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The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-5611186252578672502013-04-12T20:35:00.001-07:002013-04-12T21:26:34.150-07:00GentlenessProverbs 15:1 A gentle answer turns away wrath.<br />
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I well remember the time this verse saved me. I had taken the kids to a McDonald's PlayPlace (with a jungle theme) after a children's theater performance. The homeschool group's gustatory decision had held sway; my kids wanted to play with their friends! One son was going through a Star Wars phase...and had lost his glasses. The combination created the perfect storm. While in a "hut" he was acting out an epic light saber battle alone...or so his 9 year old, nearly blind self thought. <br />
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A 3 year old girl had crawled in to watch this silly boy who was pretending to strike at Sith Lords, but who wouldn't hurt a fly. Her mother, however, didn't know my son and proceeded to start screaming at my son that she would take him out if he touched her daughter, that she knew what jerks men were, and on and on. <br />
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I wasn't close enough to realize what was happening, other than to hear screaming, but some of my friends were. They came quickly to let me know and as I walked those few steps the Holy Spirit whispered that verse in my ear. I quietly and calmly got my son out, spoke reassuringly to her very traumatized daughter (traumatized by the mon, I should add), listened to her concerns and calmed her down, gently. She was clearly reacting from a place of deep hurt and fear and a softer gentleness was crucial.<br />
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Galatians 5:22-23 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.<br />
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Years ago, I took a Beth Moore Bible study about the fruit of the spirit. I have forgotten most of it, naturally, but I have never forgotten her illustration about gentleness. Like most people, I naturally assumed it referred to a soft gentleness, one with as little pain as possible.<br />
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She told a story about her daughter with thick, curly, long locks. Her daughter had dutifully brushed her hair daily...well, most of it. At the nape of her neck a giant tangled ball had formed without her daughter having noticed because the parts she could see looked fine. Having a daughter with such hair myself, I have seen this happen before. It's like a huge dreadlock has formed and it starts to irritate the scalp under it, to pull it, to hurt even. <br />
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When Beth became aware of the problem, she gave her daughter a choice: cut it out or work it out? Her tender-headed daughter chose to have her mom try and untangle this giant mess. Beth picked up a comb and started. It was painful. Tears were shed. I don't remember how long it took, but a substantial amount of time was required to restore her hair to its proper disposition. <br />
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In this story I see a stronger gentleness, the type that says I will use my own muscle, my own patience, my own time to tease out, smooth out each tangled strand in your life. This is a gentleness that says I know it seems easier to cut out the difficult parts of your life, but I know that if you're willing to go through pain and tears, your life can be restored and when it is, you'll be stronger for having submitted to gentle care. <br />
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So how do you know when to give a gentle answer and when to untangle? I believe the answer lies in relationship, in love. I didn't have to love the angry woman to give her a gentle answer that would keep her from trying to hurt me or my child. Beth, however, loved her child enough not to leave her in the state she was in. <br />
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As adoptive parents we know this gentleness. We know we can't leave our children in the state they were in, that we must lovingly, with power and conviction and above all gentleness, straighten the tangled messes hiding in places that were inaccessible to them.<br />
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Philippians 4:5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.<br />
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The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-54364855158540384752013-04-07T16:00:00.001-07:002013-04-07T16:15:42.575-07:00Joyful dance<div style="text-align: center;">
I think to Live — may be a Bliss</div>
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To those who dare to try —</div>
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Beyond my limit to conceive —</div>
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My lip — to testify —</div>
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I think the Heart I former wore</div>
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Could widen — till to me</div>
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The Other, like the little Bank</div>
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Appear — unto the Sea —</div>
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I think the Days — could every one</div>
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In Ordination stand —</div>
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And Majesty — be easier —</div>
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Than an inferior kind —</div>
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No numb alarm — lest Difference come —</div>
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No Goblin — on the Bloom —</div>
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No start in Apprehension's Ear,</div>
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No Bankruptcy — no Doom —</div>
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But Certainties of Sun —</div>
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Midsummer — in the Mind —</div>
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A steadfast South — upon the Soul —</div>
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Her Polar time — behind —</div>
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The Vision — pondered long —</div>
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So plausible becomes</div>
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That I esteem the fiction — real —</div>
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The Real — fictitious seems —</div>
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How bountiful the Dream —</div>
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What Plenty — it would be —</div>
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Had all my Life but been Mistake</div>
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Just rectified — in Thee</div>
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--Emily Dickinson</div>
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The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-88023355799674298942013-03-20T13:09:00.001-07:002013-03-20T13:11:48.039-07:00I am...EllaI am 8 years old.<br />
I am Colombian American.<br />
I am adopted.<br />
I have four older sisters, two older brothers and one slightly younger brother.<br />
I am, nonetheless, the baby of this family.<br />
I am stunningly beautiful.<br />
I am the most-photographed member of our family, I think.<br />
I am silly.<br />
I am able to correctly dance along with all musical numbers in High School Musical and HSM 2.<br />
I am not able to speak much.<br />
I am an excellent communicator.<br />
I am Mommy's sweetheart.<br />
I am a hugger.<br />
I am the sweetest kisser because I have the most beautiful lips (mommy is slightly jealous).<br />
I am known as Jealous Ella when I won't let the other kids have access to My Mommy.<br />
I am gorgeous in just about any color.<br />
I am not a fan of baths but I LOVE to swim.<br />
I am funny.<br />
I am observant and have a great memory.<br />
I am the only girl in this family to like dolls.<br />
I am into squeezing our very patient dogs.<br />
I am my oldest sister's roommate.<br />
I am not a fan of transitions and change, but I try.<br />
I am a sensory-seeker.<br />
I am giggly.<br />
I am blessed with the most beautiful tan skin.<br />
I am a cheerleader and a flyer on the team.<br />
I am charming with men.<br />
I am still blossoming.<br />
I am still learning.<br />
I am a "surprise" adoption...the best kind of surprise!<br />
I am the daughter my parents adore.<br />
I am wanted, cherished, loved...and I know it!<br />
I am a tremendous blessing to my family.<br />
I am perfect. <br />
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The Spicer Familyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17231444247180474488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3211840197741602399.post-44547523611731498572013-03-20T12:50:00.001-07:002013-03-20T12:50:14.212-07:00I am...EmmaI am 12 years old.<br />
I am a Canadian American.<br />
I am the one who started it all, whose infectious joy helped my parents understand that more children with Down syndrome would be best for our family.<br />
I am in a family with three older sisters and one younger sister, two older brothers and one younger brother.<br />
I am a stinker of a little sister sometimes.<br />
I am the girliest of girls in my family.<br />
I am involved in a long term, on again/off again relationship with Nick Jonas...it's complicated.<br />
I am a dancer.<br />
I am a huge Taylor Swift fan.<br />
I am swift to tell my parents not to sing or dance....it's embarrassing!<br />
I am cute and sassy and giggly.<br />
I am the baby who slept through the night when I was 2 weeks old, making me Mommy's favorite forever!<br />
I am a stutterer, but I really don't even notice it or let it bother me at all.<br />
I am smart.<br />
I am motivated to learn.<br />
I am often unwilling to do my chores.<br />
I am often willing to bend the truth about whether or not I've done them, hoping Mom won't check this time!<br />
I am deeply apologetic and downright tearful when I'm found out.<br />
I am a loyal fan of our dearly departed dog, Holly.<br />
I am completely apathetic toward our two remaining dogs.<br />
I am funny.<br />
I am charming and friendly in group settings.<br />
I am emotional.<br />
I am a lover of pink and purple.<br />
I am so lovely.<br />
I am so loving.<br />
I am helpful...on my own terms.<br />
I am plucky.<br />
I am supremely self-confident...I'm pretty darn fabulous and I know it!<br />
I am The Love Geyser...it just builds up in me and explodes all over my family from time to time.<br />
I am not a kisser at ALL.<br />
I am a hugger, but sparingly.<br />
I am a fan of Shake It Up.<br />
I am sometimes mad, but I forgive very easily.<br />
I am a huge iPod fan.<br />
I am healthy, with just celiac disease to keep things interesting.<br />
I am very easygoing about not being able to eat certain foods. I don't want my tummy to hurt!<br />
I am the child my parents didn't know they wanted but could not for one second imagine living without.<br />
I am a gift straight from God.<br />
I am Emma Lane Spicer, and I am a person.<br />
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