Do you ever have days when you need an extra reminder of God’s love? I know I need reminders often. I wake up in a mood that doesn’t improve, and I just don’t feel very lovable.
It’s like that isn’t it? We fail to feel loved when we don’t feel loveable.
The wonderful news is that God’s love does not depend on our mood or how lovable we feel. It doesn’t depend on what we do or say. His love never fails. We were reminded this past weekend of God’s love for us as we celebrated Jesus’ death and resurrection.
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If you exercise or participate in any athletic activities, you know the importance of breathing to keep oxygen going to the mind and body. We don’t really think about breathing, we just do it. But during physical exertion, we can become so focused on the activity at hand, our breathing becomes shallow. We need the reminder to take deep breaths and keep breathing.
“Make sure you’re breathing!”
It was during this reminder when I realized I need to think about breathing at other times as well.
When the stress in life is mounting…
When nothing seems to be going the way I hoped…
When I feel alone…
When fear begins to grasp at me…
When the future looks bleak…
Be still, and know that I am God!
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Change. Some people thrive on it. They live for adventure. They get bored when things stay the same. Others just about lose their lunch from the motion sickness caused by even the tiniest of changes. I’m definitely more of the latter. If I’m all comfortable, then really, must we upset things?
My mom is always moving her furniture around. I never know from one visit to the next where things are going to be in her house. I remember going home during college and being frustrated as I tried to discover which drawer now held her silverware. Me? Once my furniture is in place, I’m pretty good – like forever.
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Written on
March 29, 2012 by
Amy in
Blog
I stood at the bathroom counter having the same argument with my daughter for what seemed like the 100th time. The conversation went something like this:
“But I don’t want to wear my hair that way!”
“Why not, it looks cute.”
I don’t care, I don’t like it.”
“I don’t care if you don’t like it; you are wearing it like this.”
“But, Why?!”
“Because you have pictures today and I want them to be cute.”
“But they are my pictures!”
“Actually they are my pictures of you because I’m paying for them.”
“Well I don’t care. I’m not wearing my hair like this!”
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It was June 7, 1998 and my just married honey, John Mark, and I were headed to our beautiful honeymoon location in the Poconos. We could not wait to see the deal that we found online. Ok, that is a dead give-away that this might get interesting. We were both underage to rent a car, but we needed to get to the “resort.” We had to hire a driver to take us there. We load up our suitcases and our giddy selves and head off to our honeymoon paradise. The driver was quiet for the most part and as we got closer to our destination, we began inquiring about our honeymoon spot.
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As the sun rises, my feet hit the floor and I stammer into the shower. How could it possibly be morning already? My body is tense, still feeling the weight of yesterday and already taking on the cares of the morning. As I stand beneath the warm water I pray, “Lord, give me grace for another day”.
And these days have been blurry lately. There seems to be no start or finish, rather just one continuous blob of “more to do”.
My daily routine begins as I prepare my youngest for school and head off to work. I love the church where I am privileged to work.
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He wants to go play with those best-ever-friends, again. It’s only been a day. “Can we please go play with them again, Mom? Please?”
And I heard myself saying something about ‘too much of a good thing’ and ‘not wearing out our welcome’ and maybe even something like ‘we’ll get tired of each other if we hang out too often’.
Seriously?
I should have retraced my steps, balancing out my words with just a bit of optimism, but I didn’t. The negative words hung in the air — suspended for a moment in time — then evaporated as the kids ran off to find something else to do.
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I walked in with an attitude every day. Every. Single. Day. I hated the class. None of my friends were in it. Not one person from my circle of comrades. The class next door had Kim and Cassie. Why wasn’t I placed in there? 
I dreaded my 11th grade first period class so much I drug my feet each morning, often being tardy to school. My grandmother would always write me an excuse saying I wasn’t feeling well. She’d follow it up with, “Well, you weren’t feeling well when you realized you were going to be late for school, were you?”
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