tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52927182895835411242024-03-05T02:56:58.662-06:00Reflective ArtletKatie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-75317733595767563502016-03-30T13:38:00.001-06:002016-03-30T13:38:41.607-06:00To better understand.<div style="text-align: center;">
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I am going to leave this here. It's long, but if you want to better understand social anxiety or see how to recognize it in kids, it's worth the watch. </div>
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It feels dated, but the content is accurate and informative. I don't agreed with their explanation that painful shyness is synonymous with social anxiety. Growing up, and still today, I'm often called shy (and introverted), which is true, but social anxiety has and does play a bigger role in how I behave around people. I thin<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">k people misinterpret my social anxieties as shyness or attribute it to introversion.</span></div>
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“conditioned response to fear”<br />
Conditioned fear: “tendency to overreact to anything that’s new, novel…”</div>
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38:00 Is it desperate or courageous to seek help? Shifting from negative thinking to positive. Which one feels better?</div>
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54:00 frequently occurs in sensitive/caring individuals.</div>
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Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-18774557213584743632015-12-23T13:48:00.002-06:002015-12-23T13:48:38.885-06:00Things I was reminded of while watching Inside Out...<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">
Riley and I are not so different. I moved lots, and my childhood mantra was "Don't worry; <b>Be happy</b>." I have dealt with and continue to deal with the challenges of maintaining mental health. Here are a few things that I was reminded of while watching Pixar's Inside Out.</div>
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there are no shortcuts to happiness/healing--abstract reasoning, imagination station, train, etc.</div>
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Be patient. </div>
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the speed at which the islands fall apart seems shocking; it really happens slowly and then all at once (you don’t notice something’s wrong until the all-at-once happens). Islands can be rebuilt. Don't lose hope.</div>
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pay attention to what emotions are missing from headquarters. why? What do you need to do to get them back?</div>
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when sadness starts touching all your memories, dig a little deeper into why (stress? are you allowing yourself to feel? pay attention to your emotions.)</div>
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there is a place for sadness (encouraging imaginary friend & waking up Riley). Don’t disregard it. Riley's parents didn't know what she was feeling because she hid her sadness, assuming that she needed to be happy for her parents' sake. Sadness has an important role to play, but ensure you have support systems around you like Riley’s hockey team, parents, and friends. It’s okay to have core memories that are sad. </div>
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Which core memories have shaped you?</div>
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What are your primary islands? Have you let any slip lately? What do you need to start to rebuild and heal?</div>
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Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-7831241379825358032015-08-03T21:34:00.001-06:002015-08-03T21:34:08.417-06:00Heart-song echoes.When an album expresses your heart better than you can.<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3939601017/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 786px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://joshgarrels.bandcamp.com/album/over-oceans">Over Oceans by Josh Garrels</a></iframe>Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-86502001771479266872015-04-19T19:32:00.002-06:002015-04-19T19:32:59.373-06:00Heart strings.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Red dirt. Mango trees. Bougainvillia. Skinny cows. Percussion-based music. Heat of the sun. Dragging time. Heavy watered air. Boats. Worn taxis. Friendly people. Flat houses/rooftops. Palm trees. Burning field. The lifestyle. The friendships that could have been. The ocean. Sweet fresh fruit. Community. Lazy days. Transportation. Weathered smiling people. Poverty. Richness. Star gazing. Rock quarry. Lizards. Geckos. Cockcroaches. Slat windows. Antivolt. Potholed-roads. Gravol. Fields. Lush landscape. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: start;">Flowing falls. Cold showers. Simplicity. Lack of vanity. Clothes lined on ground to dry. Family. Card games. Steak au sauce crème. Street food. Aleco. Pizza loaf. Stable. Freddy. LeRoy. Belle. Kerrianne. Cherise. Cori. Older mentors. Blister sisters. Delayed planes. Pool outtings. Internet cafés. Guesthouse. Barrels. Peppered KD. Driver ants. Dalaba. Rollerblading at airport. River outtings. Termite hill. Guns. Barbed wire. Evacuation. The islands. IFF. Yamosoukro. Medicals. Lice checks. Dining hall. Noon rest. PE. Kickball. Petite pateau. Upper and lower court. Sunday packages. Emails. Pippi. Phillipe. Guinea pigs. Braided hair. Mystery meals. Book with B for M&D. Couch potato cake. Solar panels. Fragmented movies. Computer fans. Chips challenge. Arabic tea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: start;">Sunday movies. Saturday nintendo. White glove test. 500 franc Mars bars. Aminata. Mamadi. Howa. Bolocada. Huts. Garbage pits. Panye. Peanut sauce. Markets. Halfbuilt concrete boxes. Tile. Mold scented walls. Gated walls. Overly stuffed bikes/taxis. Coconuts. Lizards. Snakes. Tiny frog hunting. Pretend fort building. Pouring rain runnings. Toll roofs. Banquets. Musicals. Miss Epp. "Aunt" and "Uncle." Reeses. Aunt Janice. Larry Pixie. Polly pockets. Pet shop. Ants. Dorms. African culture week. Sing 'n whale/wail. Chapel. Sunday school. Papaya pill swallowings. Bible baseball. Pilgrims progress. Dog bone pillow. Napkin folding. Scorpions. Bantums. Beavers. Bees. Bethesda. Bethany. Baraka. River crossing/barge. Spiked security stops. Malaria. Worms. Meat sticks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Tropical country. The trigger. I need to grieve. I grieve. For what I lost. For what I left behind, expecting to return. </span>Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-3858658989086047292015-03-28T19:47:00.003-06:002015-03-28T23:26:40.047-06:00Who will I be?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/norue/12372188794/in/photolist-jRhGFU-Bqkyh-2jsfHc-doLDTf-bvEQgu-nKHGGR-4rQ41-5sPEZR-5N465Y-fqbfv-qMYbE5-6dMANN-bMzqNM-4xSKzt-9nfriU-5rYMEc-6HbxjG-rqPKgG-dUL4kp-qMTruK-4A8z1L-7zq4dX-3KNXMy-e19Bg5-9rVNfs-6bs4Rh-qYyYad-5VKcCj-6DxFgh-6w7R6B-ycsPu-aTd5ct-aNSo4-7jHVSm-4L1wvC-6u5REB-e4sgoe-5MYPSz-6C1qwV-5MYPBx---dHXCfU-qA25P2-hhAbV9-ou6Qgg-jw193z-5VBD8o-786fCH-a33cg4" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUJEy49kNZmh6lIfzvMwfHvBMk_G_OmBtIIcl9mbTFeztv4xmmdYNH3noJwBXtaW_gOvhlsx7nDBiwZWC3Q287LumRs80I_aHTay5wqm7OqD4nAT82478J2QADIjWs3SZ9HxG7MG_vxk/s1600/12372188794_bb43979703_z.jpg" height="261" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/norue/12372188794/in/photolist-jRhGFU-Bqkyh-2jsfHc-doLDTf-bvEQgu-nKHGGR-4rQ41-5sPEZR-5N465Y-fqbfv-qMYbE5-6dMANN-bMzqNM-4xSKzt-9nfriU-5rYMEc-6HbxjG-rqPKgG-dUL4kp-qMTruK-4A8z1L-7zq4dX-3KNXMy-e19Bg5-9rVNfs-6bs4Rh-qYyYad-5VKcCj-6DxFgh-6w7R6B-ycsPu-aTd5ct-aNSo4-7jHVSm-4L1wvC-6u5REB-e4sgoe-5MYPSz-6C1qwV-5MYPBx---dHXCfU-qA25P2-hhAbV9-ou6Qgg-jw193z-5VBD8o-786fCH-a33cg4" target="_blank">[AndreasS] "life of excellence</a>" <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/" target="_blank">CC</a></td></tr>
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He passed away this week.<br />
This man,<br />
visited oft by those he loves,<br />
by those he has cared for,<br />
pastored, mentored.<br />
A man of gratitude,<br />
of prayer,<br />
of humility.<br />
A man that fought to serve his Lord.<br />
<br />
In sixty,<br />
or seventy years,<br />
who do I want to be?<br />
<br />
Do I want to be a woman<br />
So proud<br />
So stubborn<br />
that she can't accept the help that she needs?<br />
<br />
Or like the man<br />
who is so embittered with life,<br />
so hardened by strife,<br />
that to be with people,<br />
is too big a risk to take--<br />
it may just cause more pain.<br />
<br />
Or a woman who laughs,<br />
who shares her opinion,<br />
so honest, so close to rude,<br />
but fun to be with,<br />
to tease, to laugh with.<br />
<br />
Or the woman so gracious,<br />
so thankful, so kind.<br />
Who cares about you, and where you have been.<br />
Who has raised kids quite alike as her.<br />
<br />
I serve them.<br />
I bathe them.<br />
I pull up their briefs.<br />
I feed them.<br />
I clean up their home.<br />
<br />
These people,<br />
are pictures.<br />
Of who I could be.<br />
In sixty,<br />
seventy years.<br />
<br />
If I hold on to pain.<br />
If I hold on to fear.<br />
I could be like him...or her.<br />
<br />
If I serve my Lord faithfully,<br />
If I smile, and laugh.<br />
If I love, and forgive.<br />
Then I could be like him.<br />
Christ-like, forgiven.<br />
Loving and gracious,<br />
even at ninety-one.<br />
<br />
-KT<br />
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<br />Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-90238319502292154422015-03-28T18:58:00.002-06:002015-03-29T13:29:19.016-06:00As You do.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEido1zdYZGbpocaKbutugn-zpZi02wWVC5euLvQDA82UMTQ8yStwhgp9CCd6xtPPQzLy3NR9iZDGoGRafzIk2RB_OFO3fZho8yipE2Nv2up5tRExLK9jGib-sRa76SRw0vSu8VckgYcn5o/s1600/Gibson_Girls_Magnifying_Glass_by_Charles_Dana_Gibson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEido1zdYZGbpocaKbutugn-zpZi02wWVC5euLvQDA82UMTQ8yStwhgp9CCd6xtPPQzLy3NR9iZDGoGRafzIk2RB_OFO3fZho8yipE2Nv2up5tRExLK9jGib-sRa76SRw0vSu8VckgYcn5o/s1600/Gibson_Girls_Magnifying_Glass_by_Charles_Dana_Gibson.jpg" height="303" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original pen and ink drawing for "The Weaker Sex," illustration by Charles Dana Gibson</span></span></td></tr>
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I had a different experience today,<br />
one I'm not sure I have had before.<br />
I have walked into countless churches,<br />
countless times.<br />
Since I was a babe.<br />
I have always felt the part,<br />
(Mostly) Always welcomed.<br />
At least not rejected.<br />
Until today.<br />
One step in.<br />
Two ladies, hair piled atop their heads<br />
Skirts grazing floor.<br />
One. Looking right through me,<br />
Shaking her head<br />
From side to side.<br />
So blatant, so sure,<br />
Disapproving.<br />
Of me.<br />
But what did I do?<br />
My dress? It doesn't reach the floor.<br />
My hair? It's trimmed and hangs down past my jaw.<br />
"Our hair, our glory."<br />
My mind recalls these words from days passed.<br />
Rejected.<br />
By people who love the same God as I.<br />
Judged.<br />
By those who strive for "perfect love."<br />
Out of place. Uncomfortable.<br />
In a building with a portrait<br />
Of the very same Christ I try to serve.<br />
It's my turn,<br />
to say:<br />
I am sorry.<br />
For the times I have walked away,<br />
avoided...<br />
shunned...<br />
Judged <br />
You<br />
based on your clothes,<br />
your hair,<br />
your opinion,<br />
or your education.<br />
I am called<br />
To love.<br />
My brother, sister, friend.<br />
The stranger. The lost. The broken.<br />
The ladies with the long hair.<br />
The long skirts.<br />
Forgive me, Father.<br />
For not seeing them as You do.<br />
For not loving them as You do.<br />
<br />
-KT<br />
<br />
<br />Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-86328045307162796332015-03-27T12:15:00.002-06:002015-03-27T12:15:32.458-06:00do you want to get well?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A curious thing about restoration is that it doesn’t need doing. Strictly speaking, life carries on without it. <b>Restoration is an invasion of sorts. It’s fixing something that’s broken, but broken so long it’s almost mended. </b>This man, this woman—they’ve already adapted to their misfortunes, made all the necessary adjustments. Restoration meddles with what they’ve learned to handle, removes what they’ve learned to live with, bestows what they’ve learned to live without. Replacements have been found already, thank you all the same.</div>
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These people are doing fine just the way they are. They’ve learned to live this way. They’ve almost accepted it. They’ve taught themselves tricks to bypass it, to contain it. To utilize it, even. They’ve built lives around not being whole. They've learned, if not to welcome, at least not to spurn those things their sickness drags in with it. They've learned not to mourn the absence of those things it chases away. Secretly, perhaps, they have come to love their illness.</div>
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<b>Sickness can actually steal the place of God. It can become the sick person's centre, the touchstone by which he defines himself. Illness is a tyrant with huge territorial ambitions. It is a seductress with large designs. It wants not only the sick person's body. It wants his heart and mind also. It wants to be his all-consuming passion. </b></div>
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No wonder Jesus once asked a man he meant to heal, "Do you want to get well?" (John 5:6). Maybe the man didn't, strange as it sounds. Maybe his sickness had become his haven, his lover, his overlord. And no wonder Jesus was so responsive to any old beggar or leper or blind man who threw caution to the wind and outright begged for healing. </div>
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Not everyone wants to get well.</div>
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<b>It's the most natural thing to befriend your sickness, even, after long association, to depend upon it. </b>Imagine any of the people Jesus heals. Their entire lives--their physical lives, for sure, but also their emotional and intellectual and relational lives--all have taken shape around their injuries or diseases. That man at the pool of Bethesda whom Jesus first asks if he wants to get well, for instance. </div>
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He's been there thirty-eight years. His entire existence has narrowed down to the daily drama of his lifelong suffering: the sores on his undersides, the ghostly sensations flitting along his nerves. He likely has a fermenting resentment toward those whose lot seems a margin better than his own, and a smug disdain toward those whose lot appears slightly worse. At night, sleeping on some narrow cot, he must dream of his place, its people, its shapes, its textures: the old man, rotund and dewlap, stretched across the wet stones, muttering and shaking his heavy jowls; the young girl, rawboned and waxy skinned, with a voice faint as a handrubbing cloth; the sound when the water churns, like big boulders falling at a distance; the sudden billowing at the pool's surface, an eruption of froth and steam, and the tumult of bodies heaving, flailing, lurching, as each rushes to find a place before the others do. </div>
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Thirty-eight years of monotony. Thirty-eight years of futility. Thirty-eight years of self-pity. Thirty-eight years of poisonous envy and secret pride. Thirty-eight years of never being able to work, travel, make love, cook, care for children, or fix an oxcart. Thirty-eight years of life without options. Thirty-eight years of life without obligations. He carries burdens, yes, but one he's never carried is the weight of others' expectations.</div>
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For thirty-eight years.</div>
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And then Jesus shows up one day and changes all that. One word from Jesus, and all thirty-eight years fall behind the man, vanish in a blink, and a future he stopped daring to imagine stands vivid and solid before him. He can do all the things he never could and ever wanted to do. He can do them here and now--for Jesus' miracle joins healing and therapy in one terse command. Muscles spongy from years of idleness suddenly grow taut and supple. Bones spindly from never bearing the body's full weight turn instantly thick and sturdy. Balance all topsy-turvy from chronic proneness immediately calibrates for walking, running, dancing, leaping.</div>
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And now the man can work and pay taxes. And now he can marry and take on domestic responsibilities. And now he can build a home and fix its roof when it leaks and shim the door when it skews crooked. And now he relinquishes the unique status suffering bestows on a man and enters the anonymity that comes with being well. Now he loses the strange privilege of sickness and takes up the everyday obligations of health. He's just like everybody else now. We expect things of him.</div>
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Do you want to get well?</div>
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Restoration shocks the system. It alters not just our health--it alters our world. All that we establish to placate or indulge or accommodate our sickness disintegrates with those stark words, "Take up your mat, and go."</div>
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Do you want to get well?</div>
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(From Rest of God, Mark Buchanan)</div>
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Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-3510036715238913042015-02-27T11:01:00.000-06:002015-02-27T11:01:23.474-06:00The Battle
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<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">The Battle Over Me
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt; font-style: italic;">I Am Clay
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">
As the battle’s raging on over my life
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">I’ll give it all to you
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">I’ll give it all to you my lord
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;"><br />
So can I lean into you a little more, a little more
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">Can I lay at your feet for a little longer my Lord</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">
So can I lean into you a little more, a little more
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">Can I lay at your feet for a little longer my Lord
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">As the battle’s raging on over my time
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">I’ll spend it all on you
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">I’ll spend it all on you my Lord
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">As the battle’s raging on over my time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">I’ll spend it all on you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">I’ll spend it all on you my Lord</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">So can I lean into you a little more, a little more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">Can I lay at your feet for a little longer my Lord</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">So can I lean into you a little more, a little more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">Can I lay at your feet for a little longer my Lord</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">'Cause I'm choosing the good part</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">I'm choosing the good part</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">Just this one thing we long to do </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria'; font-size: 14.000000pt;">Our hearts refrain to turn to you </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">Just this one thing we long to do </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">Our hearts refrain to turn to you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">So can I lean into you a little more, a little more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">Can I lay at your feet for a little longer my Lord</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">So can I lean into you a little more, a little more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">Can I lay at your feet for a little longer my Lord</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">'Cause I'm choosing the good part</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">I'm choosing the good part</span><br />
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Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-86274574344127444932015-02-27T10:54:00.001-06:002015-03-27T12:18:10.627-06:00Reminders<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPHXiSyWMFXtO7MeD3UQ1_ZVl8263XBemF-i8siOEoVhXG7Fk2_4jUcF89-CIBTIy_buGkp3nb8KqthzPLuwxHvb5tJ8q_dE95v_QZEF3ma02nqgCEg99ND_yW7M9QCbG-6IIiPAOL_f8/s1600/MindTheGap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPHXiSyWMFXtO7MeD3UQ1_ZVl8263XBemF-i8siOEoVhXG7Fk2_4jUcF89-CIBTIy_buGkp3nb8KqthzPLuwxHvb5tJ8q_dE95v_QZEF3ma02nqgCEg99ND_yW7M9QCbG-6IIiPAOL_f8/s1600/MindTheGap.jpg" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
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...between who you aspire to be, and who you are. (from Daring Greatly, Brené Brown)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qK4w346ZwrjyR8cS3bB0KRLYRQ0c8ZDVuQlEJ4ivLDl9yNc2ppYYGmG2-MZVRFezL6vLN4rsA-jBBFDm4EY3Dl8xVv9iS8liL5sbKIypdT5Z_s94Y8EhdEaJLLZqFRIjaHdojQIWe2s/s1600/persevere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0qK4w346ZwrjyR8cS3bB0KRLYRQ0c8ZDVuQlEJ4ivLDl9yNc2ppYYGmG2-MZVRFezL6vLN4rsA-jBBFDm4EY3Dl8xVv9iS8liL5sbKIypdT5Z_s94Y8EhdEaJLLZqFRIjaHdojQIWe2s/s1600/persevere.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
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Hebrews 10</div>
<br />Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-83007690344537558792014-08-16T13:50:00.000-06:002014-08-16T13:50:30.991-06:00I woke up.I woke up sad today.<br />But not for me,<br />
for friends,<br />
who want to disappear<br />
who are trapped in a darkness<br />
alone,<br />
or so they think.<br />
Who hurt,<br />
and don't feel you anymore.<br />
<br />
For friends,<br />
whose dads have lost their will<br />
to fight<br />
to heal<br />
to lead the way.<br />
<br />
For the stranger who sits beside me<br />
far from home<br />
where war threatens those she loves.<br />
<br />
For the brother of a friend<br />
who can no longer hold out<br />
for the sun to shine again.<br />
A knife, a strap, anything will do.<br />
<br />
For a bright, beautiful blonde<br />
who stands at three feet tall<br />
who says "I can't,<br />
I'm not very good at it."<br />
even though we all know she can.<br />
<br />
My heart breaks<br />
for the friend of a friend<br />
who eases the pain with white powder<br />
for the child that does not know they are loved<br />
every second of every day<br />
for the girl whose body is not her own<br />
for the man who thinks it's his.<br />
<br />
I woke up sad today,<br />
the burden of pain upon my shoulders.<br />
It's raining,<br />
has been for days...<br />
<br />
A taste<br />
of what it is to live in darkness<br />
to forget the heat of sun<br />
to forget the rain brings growth,<br />
makes buds flourish.<br />
But Father, would you let your light shine?<br />
take this yoke upon you<br />
share this burden.<br />
Take this.<br />
It is not mine to hold:<br />You are their Saviour,<br />
their light<br />
their only hope.<br />
Not I, but I AM.<br />
<br />
<br />Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-68167864828763527472011-11-08T14:30:00.000-06:002014-08-16T14:50:34.825-06:00Morning Light.<br />
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<br />Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-65650587267527406922011-09-04T22:36:00.001-06:002014-08-16T14:22:32.754-06:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://i561.photobucket.com/albums/ss58/kcamp295/reflectiveArtlet/f8f83084.jpg" height="428" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Verona}</td></tr>
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<span class="woj" style="font-size: x-large;">Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="woj" style="font-size: x-small;">Matthew 11:28</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="woj"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span class="woj" style="color: #666666; font-size: x-large;">Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span class="woj"> </span></div>
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<span class="woj" style="font-size: x-small;">Matthew 11:29</span></div>
<br />
<span class="woj"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #444444;">...I will give you rest. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #444444;">I will quiet you with my love.</span></span></span><span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="text-align: start;">Rebecca St. James' </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmPiirp9TuQ" style="text-align: start;">Quiet You with My Love</a></div>
Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-92111006249679561832011-08-20T09:00:00.001-06:002014-08-16T14:25:21.466-06:00A little nicer, a little less judgmental.I'm planning some more significant posts for the future, but in the meantime I'd like to share my favorite dance of So You Think You Can Dance, Season 8.<br />
<br />
It's beautiful and the message is so important.<br />
<br />
Let's all be a little nicer.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" src="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcJSd_MoZKs" width="560"></iframe><br /></div>Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-76846556502389178712011-08-10T22:43:00.000-06:002014-08-16T14:27:47.851-06:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW58R-GUhxVUtBs3Cxe_I-uhsneEgcTO_1da4WgyWNh-jjSAGbdZtT0474bIvAX5jYL4MJEYMsEeVFWnMRskV3jTIwwJd_r5cS8MRjB5heW1NPvOv1c05Rkl7NmCyAuxNedLQOtjDZCMw/s1600/DSC_0584%2528resized%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW58R-GUhxVUtBs3Cxe_I-uhsneEgcTO_1da4WgyWNh-jjSAGbdZtT0474bIvAX5jYL4MJEYMsEeVFWnMRskV3jTIwwJd_r5cS8MRjB5heW1NPvOv1c05Rkl7NmCyAuxNedLQOtjDZCMw/s640/DSC_0584%2528resized%2529.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Garda, Italy</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Why are you so downcast, O my soul?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Why so disturbed within me?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Put your hope in God,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> for I will yet praise him,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> my Savior and my God.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Psalm 43:5</i></div>
Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-68507155983036810682011-04-25T08:00:00.002-06:002014-08-16T14:30:44.182-06:00Les Photos.<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://i561.photobucket.com/albums/ss58/kcamp295/reflectiveArtlet/DSC_0896-2.jpg" height="428" width="640" /></div>
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Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-72099782318842729442011-03-28T22:29:00.001-06:002014-08-16T14:27:02.929-06:00Orchids, Furry Paws, & Morning Light.<br />
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Katie Palmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143660255582204433noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5292718289583541124.post-70899619614966511762011-03-16T17:59:00.001-06:002014-08-16T14:29:24.865-06:00Remember.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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