tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35675437304956856772024-03-12T22:03:20.620-05:00K the BLife is just life.Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-51071847482758160042016-03-16T19:09:00.001-05:002016-03-16T19:09:26.275-05:00Identity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I always say this. I always say how I haven't been on here in nearly a year. Yes, I know, that gets old. Being a working mother and putting Breck through physical therapy...it isn't easy. I look at myself in the mirror and don't recognize myself. The tired eyes and beginning fine lines, the fuller cheeks and jaw. I never lost all of the baby weight, though I walked two-three miles a night at one point. At least I only gained 30 lbs last time. And right now, I have lost all the pregnancy weight from Ace. But I'm not Kaylea Brooks. I am Mom.<div>
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I remember when I had the epiphany that my mother was once her own person. It shocked me that she had a personality, and to me seeing photos of her in her youth and reading what she wrote back then made me feel like I was experiencing some mythical creature akin to a unicorn. Yes, I was that self-absorbed. I believe most children believe their mom is just this thing that provides and makes things better...and that's all she is until they stumble upon her past.</div>
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My personality got lost in the babies and exhaustion. There is a constant tumult around us, so the piano, writing, and running took a back seat. So did the makeup and nice clothes. Now I see that my selfishness is withering away, though slowly. But the identity, well it's not so much there.</div>
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I think they call that depression, but I call it children. I used to think my mom was terrible for not remembering all of the parts of our childhood, but now I get it. Survival is the default mode. Days and night meld together, and relationships fall to the wayside, as do pleasantries and societal norms I used to follow religiously. Why? Because I don't have time to care about anyone but my children, and on occasions when my husband is home, him too. I don't have time for myself, let alone too many others. Time is a precious commodity that I spend on few, but those I invest in, I try and give the best of me. Not that there is much of me left. And I have a few friends who understand this. They're the golden ones. One specifically who is just as busy, and when we finally get together we don't feel too guilty, because we know the other understands. Life is a raging river, and you're always trying to grab on to something solid and stay there. Why was I in such a hurry to grow up? They were right.</div>
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So, these days, I want to write. Some have said I have a talent. Maybe I do. I just write all my feelings when they well up. I think brutal honesty is the key to being a great writer. There is not much else to it.</div>
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-17863969038872164542015-04-28T12:13:00.000-05:002015-04-28T18:03:04.299-05:00I Must Say This<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It pains me when I see people hurting. Violence is secondary. Anger is a secondary emotion, covering pain and hurt. As a white woman, I have not experienced racial violence or racism. Not really. I have experienced sexual violence, and all of it's terrible complications, but not racism. I must say, if I were a African American woman or a mother of a African American or mixed race child, I would be terrified. I would be hurt. Who are we, as white people, to condemn an entire race for how they feel? I don't agree with the violence, but I can see where that anger is coming from. How could I know what these men and women have experienced? Could it be possible that race is more of a factor than we white people really think? <br />
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Racism is not dead. It's stealthier and quieter, and as a white woman, I don't see it. But just because I don't see it doesn't mean that it never happens. As with the people in Baltimore, there are a great many people doing the right thing. Ten thousand who peacefully protest, and one hundred violent people ruin it for everyone. They taint the peaceful people's cause. I believe the same about police, that most of them are trying to protect and serve the public. But I'm sure there are some others who make terrible mistakes in making snap judgments about black men, and that can cost a black man his life. <br />
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I would be terrified if I was the mother of a black son. I would fear that he would act immature for a moment or lose his cool, and then lose his life. I would be afraid that if he moved too fast, he would be gunned down. Or if he was rough and mischievous like my own son, a policeman would take it wrong and blast him away. I am a mother to a strong-willed child. I am a sister of a brother and a daughter of a father. What if mistakes made by a teenage or young adult African American man cost him his life, but if you are white it doesn't? What if that is true? What if we are condemning people of color who systematically are predisposed to poverty and violence? What if it's not so easy to jump over those hurdles like we think? It's very easy to criticize the poor and deprived from our nice big homes. And how about the black people I know and see who are successful, educated, kind, and helpful? They hurt too, because they know that a white officer might perceive their children and husbands as a threat when they are good, law abiding citizens themselves. I see people who are white Christians judging the rioters. Of course, violence isn't the answer, but if someone had killed my son, my husband, or my best friend, would I be angry? If his crime didn't deserve death, which many of these stories hint that they didn't, then yes. Maybe I would be there too. Violence isn't the answer, but I see white Christians trying to invalidate the pain and suffering of a race of people who have plenty of reasons to be angry and hurt. I am a mother to a son. I cry for the mother of Freddie Gray. I don't know the circumstances, but as a child of God, I know I should be mourning for him too. He is a human being. Maybe a child of God, himself. Let us not negate the suffering of millions by condemning what 100 out of 10,000 did. Let's look at them as human beings and love them, support them, and understand that the numbers of black men being arrested and killed by police doesn't add up. Sure, sometimes I know the police were acting within their duties. But what about the times when they weren't? Did Freddie deserve to die? Tamir? All the countless others? Probably not.<br />
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This does not need to be us vs. them. We need to love them just like Jesus does. That's it.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-33270641186526671112015-03-29T16:56:00.001-05:002015-03-29T20:16:41.537-05:00Just Three Times Within Three Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
No big deal.<br />
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Sadness fills me lately. I thought for just a moment I was good enough. Or that maybe I could grow a job past the one year mark--a feat not done since college, by the way. "Tired" is not accurate. "Depressed" is too cold and concise. Black, grey, cold, banished, abandoned, starving, weary, blue, bored, invisible, hellish...what words? Can they explain anything I feel? Not so. If the earth swallowed me, I would be content. Bury me under piles of earth, fold me and tuck me in. Hide me from the light that burns and sears. It cuts off what is inside, sealing it in until pressure mounts. An implosion of the soul is a strangely beautiful thing, and I wonder what keeps my heart from doing so.<br />
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I do know that I am blessed. I need not be reminded of my husband and child. These blessings speak nothing of my failures, and they haunt me. The lack of confidence must be off-putting to others. Is there a mark on my forehead, like Ash Wednesday? Do my eyes scream to you? Do they say what I do not dare whisper? Even when I'm alone, to whisper the devastation in my life is like feeding the Beast of Babylon from Revelations. It's like sacrificing my own soul and welcoming an apocalyptic end. I don't want to speak of it for fear of the floodgates that might open. I suppose that my pride has grown to that point, and maybe I'm tired of admitting that every part of me is broken. There are no longer shards of glass, or visible pieces of me. These days, putting myself back together is like finding grains of sand blasted into oblivion in infinite space. I don't even know where most of me is, and I was pretty sure I knew at one point. Seconds and minutes change things. So many things. This is growth, the mass destruction of my soul. Tear away, build back up, tear some more, build more. Rip the suture, cut the flesh, over and over again just when new flesh was visible, albeit scarred. When I enter into glory, I will be a scarred pathetic mess. This is no different than most of the saints.<br />
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Am I a saint? Surely not, but I wonder how they felt. Were they this tired? I doubt they were riddled with my selfish weaknesses. I doubt they wallowed in self pity. I get it. Self pity is unattractive on many levels. Right now though, I'm trying my best just to get up in the morning and breathe. I know I am weak. I see it when I let the despair shine through my eyes...I see how people look away or pat my shoulder. Depression really makes people uncomfortable. They just don't know what to say, so it's easier to hide in my house, under a blanket. That way, I don't garner the small amount of pity that lasts just a minute. This hole? It's going to take more than surface words to mend. This hole is a hole only God can close up. Maybe He will leave it open for all my lifetime, and I will forever be condemned to the various salts in the wound. But I don't want others to feel sorry for me. I just want to be sorry for myself for little while. Yeah, that's wrong, I know. I am such a baby--I know I should be happy. I should be. Maybe if I smile long enough it will be true. Just maybe.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-361833057240451902014-07-20T13:12:00.000-05:002015-03-30T11:00:24.111-05:00Rememberance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I walked into Sunday school at 8-years-old. I was visiting a new church with my family. There was a girl my age. Her name was Trista. She had pretty brown hair and green eyes. Her grandma taught my class. I didn't realize I would grow up with this girl. She was pretty and popular. I wanted to be those things. I was skinny, awkward with long limbs and buck teeth. My hair was frizzy and puffy. I never felt pretty when I was younger. I always wanted to look like Trista. <br />
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She became my best friend. She got good grades and she was very smart. She had a rough life that I didn't know of then. I didn't know why she lived with her grandma or why I never saw her parents. Trista was mischievous. She did things that would get us both in trouble. We sneaked out and took her grandma's car at 15. She would smoke cigarettes and things like that. I didn't smoke. I knew what my boundaries were, and though Trista would break boundaries, I usually just tagged a long. Trista had many boyfriends. Like I said, she was pretty and popular, and I was mostly jealous of her. She had everything I thought I wanted. Years later, I learned that the jealousy was mutual, and that she didn't really like the boys. She just wanted someone to love her. She wanted a family. She wanted a dad. She wanted a mom. <br />
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She lost her mom when we were in junior high. Her mother lived a rough life. We found out when we came back from church camp. She called me, I remember the crack in her voice. Trista never cried. Trista never let people know that she hurt. But I always knew she did, even when other people didn't like her, or even hated her. I knew she was in pain. I knew it when I was young. Nothing mean that Trista did would deter me, because somehow a God-given intuition told me that she needed me. Not that I am or ever was an angel. Not that I wasn't a selfish child either, I was. But no matter what the fight, I always forgave her. She forgave me too. When we were 19, and I was in college, she told me that she appreciated that from me. She told me I was her best friend and that she had always wanted what I had. She told me that no matter how many years went by, that she knew I would be there. <br />
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I was there. I wish I had spoken up more...told her what she needed to hear. Like, "Trista, you don't really need those pills. You don't have to be 80 lbs." Or "Trista you need to slow down." Or "Trista quit running from the pain and tell someone. Tell me. Stop ignoring it." I wish I had said the harder things. I was there for her, but I didn't tell her to stop. I didn't have a backbone then. If I was who I am today, I would throw the pills in the toilet. I would tell her what she needed to hear. Because no one did that for her. That was what she wanted and why she pushed people away. She wanted to see if those people would still be there. She wanted to see if they would push back. I never pushed back. I now wish that I had. I think it would have made a difference.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-87615700397711316172014-07-13T18:36:00.001-05:002014-07-13T18:57:59.848-05:00Three Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been married three years. On July 30th. I feel so much older than 25. Oh, well. Life is a give and take of sorts. Being young and pretty, nice and thin...I traded that for marriage and a baby, both very wonderful things, but my body took some wear and tear along with that. I still don't feel like myself, but I'm incredibly blessed to be with someone who sees me as I am and thinks I'm beautiful.<br />
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Marriage is pretty hard. Having a baby is even harder. Being unemployed for months then starting a stressful job where I take people's kids away, it's a wee bit rough. Want to know what's weird? I'm not all that stressed. For once in my life, I feel like I belong.<br />
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Sometimes I look at people and I feel pity for them. I didn't realize until the last year that pity is one of the worst things I could give someone. People don't want pity. They want help, but they don't want to admit it. They will spend hours, days, and years trying to convince others that they don't need anyone and they definitely don't want pity.<br />
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I see plenty of messed up things. It's like looking into a dirty and broken mirror. I spend time trying not to notice how easily I could be like one of these people who beat, burn, and neglect their children. I don't pity them that much anymore, because it doesn't matter what happened months or years ago. They are where they are now, and there's no changing what was. They can only go forward. Some of them refuse to, others need some nudging or pushing. Three years. That and more is how long some of these kids have been away from family. As a Christian, I am called to love the orphans and widows. I am spending most of my time with orphans lately. The grace of God shows up in the strangest of places.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-39436182018284183062014-03-25T20:23:00.000-05:002014-07-13T21:45:48.136-05:00The New Kid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You know the feeling. The new job. The new school. The new neighborhood. The new town. The new in general. Everyone else knows what they're talking about except you. I barely understood what my supervisor was saying, it was like talking to a robot from another planet. Not that the things I will be doing are that complicated, they are in a way, but it was more like how she acted. She was nice, but didn't explain too much. She's a sink or swim gal, I think. Actually, now that I think of it, I think she disliked the process of dealing with a new person as much as I disliked being new. She wasn't mean, but more like exclusionary. She talked with her coworkers, but didn't direct a lot of conversation to me. She did say she couldn't go with every new person wherever they went, and I get that. But I felt like I was being babysat. She sent me with people to be out of the way while she trained other people who would be testing soon. I also get that, but I still hate feeling incapable, like an infant. <br />
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She sent me to watch several people, and I got what they were doing pretty quickly. The girl and guy I was with a majority of the afternoon were pretty awesome. They explained things in detail and gave me case files. Despite the dysfunction of some families, I can trace their thought processes in their actions and reasons for doing "crazy" things. Does it make it right? No. But most of the cases I studied today are people who need help, who lack resources. They are people in pain from their own troubled childhoods. They crave compassion and understanding, and more than those, they need accountability. I read one with some sexual abuse accusations, and get this, I didn't freak out. I'm not freaking out still, even though the things I read are hard, and the things I see will be even harder, I have a magnificent peace about it. I can handle it. I wasn't nervous, nor self-conscious. Aware...yes, that's it...I was aware of how I was new and that made me a nuisance. </div>
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All the same, I have a job and I'm seeing some pretty interesting things, like pregnant women who are petitioning to see their kids, shaking from withdrawals. Sad. Yes, but this is real life, and like the grubby DHS building, I can't be clean. I will have to get my hands dirty, and be cool with that. Everything is used and scratched there. Terribly out of date...all of it. Reality TV...nah, I have real life.</div>
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-63991263783369621552014-02-03T12:51:00.000-06:002014-02-03T12:51:23.724-06:00Spinning World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been fighting many things...so many things compete for my attention. Today, I have found peace. The Lord poured it over me, and I couldn't help but lift my hands and be speechless. It has been hard being unemployed and a new mother. I fail at it quite often. I fail at being Godly quite often. By myself, I FAIL. But when I come to the point of sweet surrender, there is nothing I can do but know that God loves me and my family, and that every little thing that I would see as a negative is a teaching point. It is a point of grace where I need God the most, and that's just it. God wants you where you need Him and only Him. He'll walk you through very hard things to get there, but in the end, it is worth it. Being chastised is a blessing. Discipline from the Father means He loves me, and He wants me to be more like Him.<div>
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I am not like Him. I am dirty. I am mean, angry, foul mouthed, base, lascivious, cruel, close-minded, hypocritical, ignorant, apathetic, afraid, GUILTY.</div>
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But in the midst of all my muck and mire, He calls me to be like Him. He forgives me. He gives me grace that is new each day. He looks on me as if I am righteous like His beloved Son. It's time I looked on each trial with a gratefulness. He is near to the brokenhearted. He is near to me. </div>
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If you know me, you know I am not perfect. You know my temper. You know my mouth, and how I say stupid thoughtless things. Forgive me. I am wrong, and it takes every day of trying to steer this ship in a new direction that is NOT me. If I take my eyes off Him for a second, I lose my way fast. You have seen it. Forgive me for not being better or stronger. Forgive me for not being gracious or not being positive. Forgive me for holding myself back. For indulging myself in the things of this world. I am a child of God...I'm still a child, still learning, and I will be for the rest of my life. To all my friends who don't see Jesus in me, I am ashamed, but I stand in His grace, hoping that with each day He will make me more like Him.</div>
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-23094819071307468142013-10-27T21:12:00.001-05:002016-03-16T19:27:28.739-05:00The Perfection in Imperfection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am, finally, the mother of a beautiful baby boy. He is wonderful. He didn't used to keep me up all night until this week, and this is week #3. The first two weeks were laden with intermittent pain and euphoria of having a perfect baby, one who only woke up once a night. Of course, that has changed now as he begins to transition out of the newborn stage.<br />
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The boy eats like a horse (like his dad) and can't be wakened if he is asleep (also like his dad). He is stubborn (will cry for hours if you don't hold him) and expressive (he gets that from me). :)<br />
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I love him so much. I don't know what I will do when someone hurts him. It will be very hard for me not to kill them. You thought I was crazy before? You should see me now that I'm a mom.<br />
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We lost our sweet puppy dog, Angel, earlier this week, and for the first time in over a month, I felt really depressed. I will always miss her, since she was my first dog and I got her during a time when I was mourning my friend's death and other things going on in my life at the time. She helped me to deal with things emotionally, and because of that, I think of her as a true friend that God blessed me with at the right time. And she left at a good time too, when I have an infant who is becoming more vocal. To be honest, I don't have much time to dwell on the sadness, though I still have my moments. <br />
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What's the most encouraging thing of all of this? I can feel myself growing. I can see my relationship with my husband getting stronger, though I thought the opposite was supposed to happen.<br />
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My husband is my best friend, and he has been very supportive and sweet throughout everything. He tells me how awesome I am at being a mom. He is becoming the loving father that I always dreamed of...and a better husband because of it. <br />
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People have stepped up and helped us in so many ways, I can't thank them enough. We have been given countless gift cards, checks, gifts, clothes for Sampson. My church has been awesome. My pastor and his wife brought over food and a gift card for groceries from them and other members. Friends have offered to babysit and give a hand, gladly. I have never felt so loved.<br />
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Though life will continue to be hard, because that is just life, I am more confident that life will be okay. It doesn't weigh on my shoulders anymore.<br />
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-48201914656455584402013-09-16T22:41:00.001-05:002013-09-16T22:41:43.646-05:00Tick Tock<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Any day now. I have contractions all night long, and yes, they are really painful. I'm about to burst. I know I'm a mom, and yet, I still don't feel like it. I think I emotionally distanced myself when I was spotting and cramping early on in pregnancy, and definitely more so when they said something could be wrong with Sampson. It was so heart wrenching, I feel like I turned myself off or something. I know he's going to be okay now, or at least I think, but you never know. The thought of loss early on was hard enough. I couldn't imagine now.<br />
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As a result of turning my emotions off, I feel absent sometimes, and it almost feels like a dream. I know a human being is inside me, but I can't imagine how I should love him or how I should be feeling. I'm anticipating, but I feel guilty for not feeling completely overjoyed. I feel guilty for the worry I feel. I wonder what having a child will do to my marriage, to our finances, because I know all too well that adding another factor just makes things harder. And how will I deal with it all? How could I be a good mom? The list of questions goes on and on in my head. My mom says it will change when I hold him. I'm sure it will, but I feel like I'm in a constant state of shell shock, and I don't know what to feel.<br />
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I love my child, but I don't know what that means. I guess I'm just going to find out, right?</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-23293749555845774032013-09-11T13:30:00.000-05:002013-09-11T21:17:04.052-05:00In a World that is Mourning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are days like these when it is impossible not to shed a handful of tears. Even with years between now and when you lost someone, the wound still seems raw. You see it on people's faces. It's not just 9/11. It's not just parents of soldiers lost in the wars of the last decade. Death is everywhere, whether loud and apparent like 09/11 or Syria, or quiet and stabbing, excruciatingly quick like a young mother losing her child before he is born or a bride dead on her wedding night. It can be long and drawn out like watching your mother and all that made her wonderful disappear before your eyes, piece by beautiful piece. Death is pervasive and each situation arduous, grueling. <br />
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Death tests the spirit to the core. It is the ultimate loss. It is a realization that your life will never be the same--a hole will always be where he or she was-- and that one day, you too will walk through a similar door into the unknown. So many have gone before, and more and more are going every day, but it doesn't dull the knife of pain death brings. Years pass and Death will scar your life, leaving marks on you with each and every precious person he takes.<br />
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I see how Death makes people despair. I must admit that I, too, am pierced by Death and what he has done in my own life. I still struggle with how much I miss those gone in my life, and I am young. I know well that it will only happen more often, and that's something I must come to accept.<br />
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But I have something most people don't have. I have a Hope that my life now--the past, present and future--is only temporary, including the pain, no matter how unbearable. I have Someone to hold on to when everything else fails, and when Death comes calling, I have a Friend that comforts me, and He's closer than a brother. He gives a peace that no one person or thing can offer. It gets hard, yes, but if there is one thing I wish I could impart to you, if there is only one thing that you would ever hear from me, it would be that He is there for you, too. He has rivers of infinite mercy waiting for you, no matter where you have been. You may think He is a figment of my imagination, or that He's a god that has never cared, but I know from my own life that He sees you and everything you have been through and He grieves for your broken heart. He has lost, in fact, He sent His only Son for you. You will never understand why, I know I don't, but I trust this Friend and He has brought me through every pain I've had. Not only that, but He conquered Death, as impossible as it sounds, He defeated it to where sin, death, and pain no longer reign, He does. This Friend cares, even if you fight Him, even if you hate Him. I have hated Him and cursed Him, and still He has followed me to the darkest pits to pull me out.<br />
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I only pray you allow Him to do the same for you.<br />
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"There's bound to come some trouble in your life, reach out to Jesus, and hold on tight. He's been there before and He knows what it's like, and you'll find He's there."--Rich Mullins</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-16780769435736891672013-09-09T09:31:00.000-05:002013-09-09T11:14:09.670-05:00Bombs in Syria<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Should we or should we not strike Syria?<br />
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It's been several weeks since images of the devastation of Syrian civil war leaked into the news. And now, the White House even has a video of people, including young children, dying from the gas attacks. Thousands have died.</div>
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Is it wrong? </div>
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YES.</div>
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Should we interfere? </div>
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In my opinion, no. <br />
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We have spent the last twelve years in war in the Middle East, and Syria's civil war isn't the only conflict where thousands of people are losing their lives. Egypt anyone? Libya? And there are even more countries where people have been systematically killed and we turned a blind eye. My question for the president is simply this: What about Syria is so different that we should get involved? Iraq is a prime example of jumping into a war for reasons that aren't readily proven. Weapons of mass destruction? And remember, Congress supported Bush then. Congress isn't so sure now.</div>
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We don't want to help the Syrian rebels. They are al-Qaeda sympathizers. And honestly, the chemical attack is terrible and gruesome, but what's the difference between that and Egypt's military mowing down innocent people with guns?</div>
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What does Syria have that we want? I really wonder why Obama is pushing this so hard. Because my generation is tired of the US being the self-proclaimed international policeman that no one wants in their country. Personally, I think intervention in Iraq helped the country and opened up a life for women and children who were treated like animals. All the same, looking back, was it worth the billions of dollars and thousands of lives we spent? I don't think we are in a place financially to spread ourselves out even more thin, actually both monetarily and with our troops. We should be wrapping up the wars we are still in now. It's been twelve years. We have been in war for half of my life now. It's time for it to end.</div>
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How about you? What do you think? Answer the poll on the top right of the page, or comment below.<br />
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Here is a link about this debate.<br />
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<a href="http://www.themorningsidepost.com/2012/11/21/great-debate-intervention-in-syria/">Read up on it.</a></div>
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-12023600987453668182013-09-01T13:26:00.000-05:002013-09-01T13:36:52.038-05:00Another Season of Waiting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, I'm in another part of life that requires patience...waiting. I'm waiting on Sampson. Waiting on God. Waiting on opportunity. Waiting on security. Just waiting.<br />
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I'm not as completely freaked out as I expected myself to be. This is the second time this year that I find myself without a job. I used to apply to about thirty different jobs a week a year or two ago. But earlier this year, when a good job as a book publisher went under, I applied at different places--but I also took a number a man from Mardel gave me. I called it and scheduled an appointment at a temp agency. I was put on a temporary project with Chesapeake not a week later. The pay was the same as my job as a publisher. I thought I might even get a chance to be hired on.<br />
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It was a good seven month run, the same amount of time I was with On Demand Books. I wasn't cut when most people (about half) were, and my original prayer of making it to September was answered. Praise God for His graciousness in that. I made it as far as is comfortable. We have enough savings to last us about two months, and I'm already applying for jobs as we speak, so I can get hired on in November after I have Sampy. I'm not stressed like I thought I would be. God has taken care of Breck and me. He will continue to do so.<br />
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All the same, prayers are always greatly appreciated. The support of a brother or sister with prayer is always uplifting, and it makes this sometimes hard battle of faith easier.<br />
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I remember when I praised God about getting the Chesapeake job earlier this year, an Atheist man asked me why I was giving glory to God about a job I busted my tail to earn, and a job that I was perfectly qualified for, so why was I surprised about getting it?<br />
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I spent the first year out of college married, working for $9/hr, and I was the only one working for six months, too. It was rough. There were weeks we went without groceries to make rent. We ate potatoes and macaroni. That's it. I applied for every job I could, but no matter how many times I called back or no matter what I applied for, I wasn't getting any response.<br />
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Mind you, I know that I'm not the only person who experienced this. We are in the middle of a Great Recession, and I know plenty of people with degrees applying for the same $10/hr jobs I was. It didn't matter what your experience was, no one was hiring. They were hiring administrative assistants with master's degrees. Isn't that funny? Getting paid $10/hr with a master's degree? So, all of us new graduates had no chance at what traditionally has been reserved for entry level college graduates. All of the experienced workers from across the nation faced lay offs, and guess what? They came to Oklahoma for jobs...even jobs that they wouldn't want, such as secretarial and administrative jobs. And the college kids like me? We were stuck waiting tables, waiting for our turn to jump on any ladder that had nothing to do with sales. And believe me, there weren't any at the time.<br />
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I only had two interviews in that first year after college, after applying at hundreds of places. I finally remember telling God, "Okay, I get it. I'm not going anywhere. You want me to wait? I'll wait." Within a month I was told of an opportunity with On Demand Books. My music minister and friend, Darrell, let me know about it. I was one of three people interviewed, and I got the job. <br />
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Sadly, the company had to close their locations, and mine was the first to go. It was just the wrong time to introduce printing and publishing when iPads and Kindles were taking over the market. Print readership is down and will continue to decline, so in all reality, I shouldn't have been surprised. My professors warned me of things like this in 2007 when I entered the journalism program at UCO. They were right. It's only going to continue changing, and traditional media is going to die out if it doesn't evolve with the rest of the world.<br />
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So, after being let go, I was ready for the long haul. I knew it could be a while before I found a job that would provide for my family like I needed. But a week later, God came through. It had nothing to do with me. In fact, the less I worry about what I have no control over, the more room for God to do something amazing. I'm excited to see what He will do with this one. :)<br />
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Two or three years ago, I would be having a mental and emotional breakdown over this. I would be destroyed. But I'm grateful for the growth that I couldn't achieve without Him. The peace I have right now is not of me. It isn't my nature. I'm a neurotic and obsessive person. I'm a control freak. But when I let these things go and put them in His hands, I'm free. I can only do what I can, and believe me, I'm applying for jobs and looking for ways to provide for my family, but I also know that what God wants for me will happen. I cannot change His will, and freaking out and acting out of desperation only tells Him that I don't believe He'll take care of me.<br />
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I'm glad He has taken care of me over the past few years, and I'm glad for the peace He gives me now. I'm glad I'm not in control. I don't want to be.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-7673906557069110272013-08-28T21:34:00.000-05:002013-08-28T21:52:30.823-05:00From the Wild<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I will soon be a mother. I guess this realization makes me more sentimental than I otherwise would be. I also guess that most children, no matter how much they say they hated their hometowns growing up, long for home when they are finally grown. I'm having a baby now, am I grown? <br />
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My home is a wild land, dry and harsh, hot, cold, empty and barren. Phone companies such as AT&T, Verizon, and Sprint refuse to operate there since it's such a high cost area. My father is employed at Panhandle Telephone, Inc., so I remember him explaining why no one wanted to be there.<br />
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And it's true. No one sets out to Guymon, Goodwell, Boise City, etc., looking to start a life unless they grew up there. Heck, I always said I would never come back, and who knows if I ever will. And the people who grew up there are well rooted in families whose great-grandparents came for free farm and ranch land. They are a tough people, friendly, stubborn and determined. They come from people who stayed during the hardest time, and rode out the Great Depression, clouds of dust, and constant loss. These are the people that didn't shudder at hard times, these active and hardworking ancestors. They knew more than anyone what the very bottom felt like. They also knew that helping each other was the only way to survive.</div>
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I suppose the only people coming to the panhandle looking to start a life these days are those who are brought in by the hog and beef farms, but until the 1990s, there really wasn't an influx. I hear Guymon is growing now, changing much like other small towns. Things are different. The people coming in are still the hardworking type. They're still the underdogs.</div>
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I introduce myself to people and tell them where I'm from--I take my left hand and use it as an Oklahoma map to show them where I call home. I also explain that I'm in the part most weathermen cut off the screen. I'm from where most politicians dismiss as unnecessary when it comes to running for things. People really disregard us, and they shouldn't. But you can't understand this all unless you've lived in the panhandle. </div>
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No one wants no man's land, and when I left at 18, I drove away and didn't look back. I didn't cry. The big city awaited me. The nearest "city" to Guymon is Amarillo and that's about two hours away, so you can imagine how a small-town girl felt moving to the city by herself.</div>
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It was liberating.</div>
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All the same, I can attribute a lot of my stubborn, hardworking tendencies to the panhandle that shaped my daddy, his daddy, and his daddy before him. The same panhandle where my grandmother met my papa on Main Street. The small, sleepy town that endures droughts, dust storms, ice and snow, tornadoes and 90 mph straight winds (trust me, our fence blew over twice) is the town that polished me. The people, all of whom know your parents and grandparents, are friendly and they watch out for each other. There is no road rage. It only takes five minutes to get to the other side of town.</div>
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And really, it is a beautiful place, though there aren't any real trees. That's the best thing about the panhandle--the sky is so open, and when the thunderheads come in bringing with them the sweet and rare smell of rain, there really isn't anything more beautiful. Especially when they ride in during the sunset...painted pinks, oranges, and reds. The lightning fills the sky, surrounded by super-cell mountains. After months of arid wind, I can promise you there is nothing else that lifts a panhandler's spirits more than rain. In fact, even when it's flooding here in the city after an overly wet season, I could never tire of it. That's how much I love rain.</div>
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I always gripe about that drive back home, but honestly, it's always a good time to listen to my favorite music and take in the scenery and beautiful sunset clouds. It's perfect for soul searching, because nothing does the soul more good than a long journey home to family, friends and memories. That desert-like land will always be a part of me, and someday I'll tell Sampson all the stories I heard from my dad and grandparents. The roots will always run deep.</div>
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-59317112834672729792013-08-10T16:57:00.000-05:002013-08-10T17:17:12.345-05:00So, besides me being pregnant...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Life is crazy. I'm seven months pregnant, and I haven't posted anything on this blog in over eight months. Living life can take a lot of effort and cooking a bun in the oven, yeah talk about mentally and physically exhausting. Add on to that the death of my great grandmother, moving out of an apartment into a new house, a graduating husband (who started grad school three weeks after graduation), my sister's wedding, a wedding shower for my friend I tried to help plan, the death of my husband's grandmother, and a temporary job on top of that.<br />
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Yeah, life is crazy.<br />
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I still haven't caught my breath really.<br />
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My brain is fuzzy, and the saying about pregnant women loosing IQ points really scares me. So I have been reading everything from the Qua-ran to George Bush's Decision Points. Another one I'm on right now is Jerusalem 1913 about Palestinian-Israeli conflict. God, please let me still have a brain after having a baby and don't let it turn into complete mush. Oh, and a body too. GOD PLEASE LET MY BODY BOUNCE BACK...just a little. PLEASE. It probably won't completely though. I have stretch marks on the back of my thighs like a cat went ape crazy on them. Love it. </div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-54539478519123873892012-12-11T11:12:00.001-06:002012-12-11T11:12:57.045-06:00Charlie Brown would be Ashamed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I love Christmas, and hate it at the same time. The crowded malls and shopping centers, the traffic, ugh--spare me, please. I also don't like the mentality we have about Christmas. All the buying and spending. Do we really need gifts in first world America? Is it really necessary, with all that we already have?<br />
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I love buying gifts. I love acing it, and getting exactly what someone else wanted. I enjoy this quite thoroughly. If I didn't get any gifts this year, it would be okay by me. Just let me write a check for someone who is less fortunate. That's the most important part of Christmas, is it not? What's the point in buying? What's the point in spending vast amounts of money on things that don't last? There is none.<br />
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I love fashion magazines. The pages inside interest me, because--yes--I like clothes. A little bit--okay, maybe a lot. I really like boots and shoes. But all the same, even I know that all of the things in my closet will get worn down, go out of fashion, or get eaten by moths. I don't feel the nagging to buy anything lately. It just seems like a tremendous waste.<br />
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I sponsor a child that lives on the other half of the world. He runs and plays football (a.k.a. soccer in the rest of the world); he picks beans in his parents' garden. He has seven other siblings, and his teachers label him "below average" in school. But the child is ever grateful for my support, and now that he's able to write me in English, I am finding out more about his life. He never complains, nor does he say that is in need. He speaks with simplicity and a humble gratitude that is foreign to America and other industrialized countries. The used and overly baggy clothes that he buys with Christmas money are listed in detail in an end-of-the-year letter he sends me. He doesn't smile in his photo, but he always sounds optimistic. He requests that I pray that he passes his exams. I love him, and I should be more like him. We all should.<br />
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We're are missing out on mounds of miracles and life lessons. What does the average American live for anyway? Charlie Brown thought it was bad in the 60s--man, he had no clue.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-34793960155408478822012-11-27T15:28:00.001-06:002020-01-02T17:52:09.019-06:00The Word of Sadness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tristitia means sadness, wretchedness, unhappiness. Isn't that ironic? Trista's name means sadness. I feel weird this holiday season. It didn't feel like Thanksgiving and it doesn't feel like Christmas is coming. These days are little more than just that; they are days. Normal days...shouldn't they be sacred and holy? Shouldn't they be joyful?<br />
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I miss my friend. It's easier to talk about her these days. Some days hurt more than others, but I know she wouldn't want me moping around. <br />
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I find that family makes the sadness better, that is, until I have to leave. Then I am so burdened on the road home. It's family that makes the holidays. I can't come home for Christmas. Sigh. I want them to be near to me. That would be nice.<br />
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I spoke with a woman yesterday who lost her father the Saturday before Thanksgiving. How sad. She was crying when she spoke about it. I hurt for her. The holidays are so cold without family. Spaces remain where loved ones used to be. As I grow older, I know more spaces will appear, seats vacated. The winter will become colder, and little bit harsher. It's love that keeps me warm, and I now realize that I rely heavily on my family and friends to give me hope that I don't find easily. It'll be okay. I think this moodiness is my cross to carry.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-10951219174159119412012-11-12T15:00:00.000-06:002012-11-12T15:00:00.646-06:00Crying in My Hands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I didn't go to church yesterday morning. The alarm went off and I felt like death. Literally. The windiness that brought the cold front also blew about allergens that kept me up sneezing and coughing all night. It was worse than usual. I think to myself that I don't want to spend the rest of my life being as miserable as my allergy-ridden father. He had to take a shot every day, or every week--I don't remember exactly because I hate shots and wouldn't watch. He is constantly congested and doesn't sleep well either. We always joke that we can tell where he is in a crowd by the sound of him clearing his throat, which he does every minute or so. My mother says that sound is comforting. To me, it's the sound of misery.<br />
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I don't function well without sleep. I have nightmares, so sleep doesn't come easily to me. My allergies make it 20 times worse. From early February's tree pollen to late November's weed pollen, I'm miserable 10 months out of the year. If it's a warm winter like it was last year, then I'm miserable ALL year long. Allergies can't compare to cancer, but they contribute to bronchitis (a sickness I struggled with when I was young), asthma, acid re-flux, and a poor immune system in general. I drink eight to ten glasses of water a day. This keeps my mucus from being super thick, and it makes it a little easier. I avoid ice cream and milk products, since they do the opposite of water.<br />
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Back in high school, I ran four to five miles during ragweed season. How did I do that again?! I ran this past weekend, and with the wind blowing everything around, I couldn't breathe. My legs weren't hurting. Heck, I wasn't even tired. I just couldn't breathe. <br />
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How did I run two miles in 13 minutes? With asthma? I hate getting older. It's becoming increasingly obvious how hard it is to keep up with things that used to be so easy.<br />
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After waking up at noon, I walked into the bathroom and looked at my red eyes. I started picking at my face, messing with my eye brows--you know--doing all my little ticks. Then I started crying. Breck tried to understand why. For a second I realized everything that I was struggling with--I would be dealing with it the rest of my life. My OCD, the asthma, allergies, mania and excessive spending. The weight crushed me. <br />
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I always thought I could conquer the things that ruled me in high school--but here I am, still dealing with them. In fact, the emotional side of me is even more screwed up now then it was then. I'm working on it--and I guess from what people tell me, I'm better, but I just don't believe it. You know what I mean? I feel like I am fooling everyone, and I really am just as bad as I always was.<br />
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With my health always in a limbo, my sleep pattern so jacked up...the physical exhaustion just piles on to my emotional mess. I want to be more than this. I want to be the girl my husband thinks I am. I want to be that amazing and carefree--that beautiful. Casting away all these problems and cares and throwing my head back in a smile would be wonderful. It's never that easy.<br />
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I hate the cyclic feelings. I hate that I always end up here. Tired. </div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-88012760522528623682012-11-07T12:05:00.000-06:002012-11-07T14:04:17.340-06:00Talk, Talk, Talk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Blither, blather, blither, blather. Just nonsense. Politicians gab away about what they can and will fix. Will they live up to the self-created hype? Probably not. This election was full of disillusionment. I am that voter, you know, the one that doesn't feel like her needs are being met. I am a woman, but I'm not going to force the right of my uterus upon you. Do certain body parts have rights? According to Sophia Bush, yes they do, and you better back off of them (#backoffmyuterus).<br />
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I am a rape victim, myself. It's true--I don't believe people, especially men, understand what rape does to an individual's mind and soul. I also think that you can't make people understand something that has never happened to them. I can't force anyone to think or feel the way I do. That being said, I don't believe abortion is an answer to rape or any other means of conception. Would I gripe at a woman who got an abortion? No. Do I deride other people for not believing the way I do? No. Do I explain my views and the reasons I believe the things I do? Occasionally.<br />
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This is one of those times.<br />
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As a woman in the modern times, I realize that men have better opportunities than us, and possibly they are paid more than us for doing the same jobs. I--too--see that there are terrible stereotypes that society thinks we should conform to. Yes, I hate all the sexy ads with scantily clad women who are rail thin. I hate how the world pressures us into thinking that if we don't fit these stereotypes, we're overweight, out of place, and unworthy of love. If we don't show enough cleavage, we aren't sexy, and therefore we shouldn't be upset if we can't get a date or if we are left for someone better. I hate that women aren't taken seriously, but are sometimes portrayed as advancing because of looks or sexual acts with people in places of authority. "Women aren't as smart as men, therefore they can't possibly have what it takes to lead." If they're in a position of authority, I have heard people question as to why. On the other side of this, you have the outcome of the sexual revolution.<br />
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I hate that being "sexually active" is the norm. I hate that girls who choose to remain celibate until marriage are treated like snobbish prudes. A girl can brag about sex with all the different men (or women) in the world, but the virgin is chagrined into silence. People find it weird and unhealthy to "suppress" sexual activity or fantasies. I can see their faces now, frowning and dismissive: <i> Please don't talk about your views on saving sex for marriage, you naive child. </i><br />
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Despite the supposed progress of our nation, a woman who does brag or talk about her sexual ventures is still thought of as a whore. Let's be honest. But a guy with plenty of scores, no big deal. He's cool. Older men can date much younger women. Yes, that is "normal." But cougars and older women dating younger men is weird to think about, isn't it? Even without morality in the equation, gender equality is all kinds of screwed up. Don't let society fool you. The way women were looked at fifty years ago still exists, it's just in the back of everyone's mind. The only difference is that we don't speak of it.<br />
<i><br /></i>Despite disagreeing with society's definition of what a woman should be, I don't agree with liberal feminists either. Women want freedom to practice safe sex. That's fine--none of my business, but then they go to companies and want to force on the them things like birth control, abortion costs and such. Yeah...that doesn't make sense to me. If you want the freedom to do things, accept the costs and consequences of said actions. <br />
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You do have the freedom to have rampant sex. You have the freedom to buy birth control or condoms. Then do it. Please don't expect someone else to do it for you. And when you do get knocked up, don't expect your place of work to provide insurance coverage for your day-after pills or whatever other procedure you choose to get done--especially if said company is run by Christian people with Christian values, ex. Hobby Lobby or Mardel. Same goes for Chick-fil-a. They reserve the right not to support things like abortion, because that is their belief. <br />
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I'm tired of people getting all up in a huff over Christian companies who don't want to except gay marriage or abortion. I'm tired of Christians being bullied into a corner on these issues. Yes, I am a woman. But I think too many women are selfish and want birth control and certain services given to them because they are women. They feel they are entitled to it. They excuse murder, but then I hear them accusing politicians who say stupid things about rape. Yeah, those guys are freakin' idiots. But don't fool yourselves, ladies. I highly doubt the millions of babies aborted up until this point were from incidents of rape. In fact, I would venture to say that very very few of them are from rape victims at all. Most of them are from selfish women who want to sleep around without a cost to themselves. Most are probably from teenagers who have no clue what they are doing, and they are afraid. Don't get me wrong--I don't believe in shunning people who get pregnant out of wedlock. I don't believe in being hateful to them. I'm not going to treat people who have had abortions like they are terrible people. Everyone makes mistakes, but no one seems to see that these mistakes come at such a high cost for the mother and child. In fact, the cost is very high for our nation in general. Millions of lives have been wiped away, and do we seriously think we won't be held accountable?<br />
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If you are going to play with fire, plan on getting burned. If you end up with consequences you don't like, accept responsibility. Don't murder your kid. And if you plan on murdering your own child, then don't joke yourself into thinking everyone wants to support that. I don't support your "right" to abortion. And I'm not sorry about it.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-73599101959621154812012-11-05T19:00:00.000-06:002012-11-05T19:00:00.374-06:00Keep on Smiling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I hate when weekends end. Yes, that puts me in the 99th percentile of the entire earth, but I felt like saying it anyway. I love lounging with Breck on the couch, watching TV shows all afternoon. I wanted to be unproductive this weekend. I was in better spirits yesterday, but I'm depressed today. I know, I know. I am depressed everyday. <br />
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I hate feeling like a failure. Did I mention that I am the worst about hiding my emotions?</div>
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If you know me, you already know that. I have to remind myself that I am not a slave to them. It's easy to feel like a caged bird, so suffocated and starved of life. It's days like this that I keep telling myself to be thankful for my life. They say count your blessings. Oh, and smile.</div>
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So here's to all my blessings. I'm shaking off this grim feeling. It's stupid. I am independent, so I refuse to let my chemical imbalances control my life. I refuse to let my circumstances break me. Strength comes from the hard times and rough patches. Strength comes from persevering. My strength comes from knowing that God blesses me, even in my darkest days. He keeps me pushing. He doesn't let me sit here and mope, though I really wish I could. The Invisible Hand pulls me up.</div>
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"Why are you down?"</div>
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"Well, God, you know I'm tired. You know I'm a constant failure. Sometimes I just want to give up. I can barely keep my eyes open."</div>
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"Why are you tired? What have you been doing that makes you tired? You know, if you would rely on me then you wouldn't be so worn down."</div>
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"I don't know what I'm doing. I think I'm doing what you want, but I'm not entirely sure."</div>
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"Stop thinking you can fix things. You constantly push yourself to do what you're not made to do. You're only exhausting yourself. Try all you want, but you DO know that you're not going anywhere unless I want you to, right?"</div>
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"Yes...but where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? What if I do too little? I feel like I'm not doing enough, or I feel like I'm doing something wrong. There's this constant guilt."</div>
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"I died to set you free from guilt. Why are you letting it run your life? I'm pretty sure that's my job."</div>
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"Yeah, I know...how do I get rid of that?"</div>
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"By actually believing I have this entire situation under control. By seeing that this is my world--my galaxy. I control your destiny. Not you."</div>
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"Even when I fail? Even when I'm everything I'm not supposed to be? What if I'm unprepared? What happens when I fall?"</div>
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"Stop worrying about it. I'll guide you and help you. I'll give you everything you need. Nothing more, nothing less."</div>
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So, there's no clue about where this life is heading. Only God knows. So, I'm going to keep counting my blessings, in no particular order:<br />
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1. God has given me a wonderful husband who knows all the bad parts of me, but loves me regardless.<br />
2. My parents and grandparents are men and women of God. They are still married, despite hardships.<br />
3. My family is, for the majority, healthy. I haven't had to deal with the loss of a family member yet.<br />
4. I have a job that pays well. <br />
5. This job has given me experience in computer programs like Adobe Creative Suite. Awesome and relevant.<br />
6. I am able to connect with people on a deeper level with this job.<br />
7. I have siblings, and we are close.<br />
8. I'm not hungry.<br />
9. I have an abundance of clothing and material wealth.<br />
10. I am not sick nor do I have a disease.<br />
11. I have good friends who are there for me.<br />
12. I live in the US.<br />
13. I am allowed to practice my religion and speak about it freely.<br />
14. I belong to a church that preaches the Word of God faithfully.<br />
15. I have a group of people my age that go to my church, and they are awesome.<br />
16. I have a college education.<br />
17. I have a car.<br />
18. My car is paid off.<br />
19. I'm paying off my college loans ahead of time.<br />
20. I have two precious puppies.<br />
21. I am given enough money to bless and sponsor a child in Uganda.<br />
22. He reminds me that I have it pretty easy.<br />
23. No matter what has happened, I have survived it up to today, because of the grace of God.<br />
24. I am able to pay the bills.<br />
25. I know how to play the piano, and can write songs of my own...even if no one will ever hear them.<br />
26. I have access to the internet and countless amounts of information.<br />
27. I am able to vote for who I want to lead my country.<br />
28. I am blessed in about a million other ways, too.<br />
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I'm tired today, but I'm going to smile. Obviously, I have much to smile about.</div>
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-24352128553862577562012-10-31T13:14:00.000-05:002013-08-10T17:25:02.338-05:00Talking Rocks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here I sit, twisting back and forth--dangling from a long string. I hate choices...big choices. I know I must make them, but still, I am unsure of where I should be. It's not just me, by the way. It accurately describes much of my generation.<br />
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I hate indecisiveness. So, I will pray and see how it goes. <br />
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I still run, and that's a miracle for me. I do my best to get in shape. It helps me sleep more and feel better in general. I love the feeling of being sore the next day. Even more so, I enjoy running at night--running by the field and its mass of cool air, unlike the air above the slabs of concrete. Then comes the fragrance of water, and damp dirt. I relish those smells. They permeate the air, nearly as good as the scent of a fresh rain.<br />
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The earth announces fall with golden, aureate flowers that dot the landscape like brush strokes in a painting, along with quiescent leaves adorned in ruby and gold--the first turning of trees. As chlorophyll vanishes, the trees enter their deep slumber.<br />
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When I leave my warm house and go out into this world of wonderful smells and color, it takes me back to times when I ran in the state meet at Oral Roberts. The oaks softly shed their leaves, ever so slowly. My feet crunched on top of them as I ran.<br />
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When I run, I don't feel the need to analyze every thought. Why figure everything out, when I can experience the earth that we hide from? I'm too caught up in myself, I think. Just bury me in the sweet smelling soil, perpetually covered by a world of color and life. Let me stay there.<br />
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In the country, the Milky Way is so bright. It lights up all of the sky, illuminating the black of night. I could lay down and watch the galaxy revolve around some unknown point. The stars are uncountable. I miss that about living in the middle of nowhere. Trees are wonderful, but where I'm from, there's just a vast, open sky. In the spring, the thunderheads roll in, bringing with them precious rain. At sunset, they come in the brightest oranges, fading into pinks and purple when the sun goes down.<br />
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I know we were made to enjoy these wonderful manifestations. Are the changing hues and bright flowers for us? The stars and sky too? I dare say no. I believe He created them because He enjoys them. But we are given a chance to enjoy them, too. God could have forged the universe and left man out of it. But He didn't. I, myself, wonder why He bothered with us sometimes. We can be petty, selfish and cruel. We ruin things. Though humans have the capacity to love, cherish, and grow, we would rather invoke destruction . Why do we, yes we, mean more to Him than all of creation? Isn't it unfathomable? For some reason, we are just a little less than the angels. <br />
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I am surrounded by beauty, and yet I wonder about our souls. If all creation isn't a testimony to a Mind greater than all minds, a deeper Heart with the infinite ability to love, what is? Happenstance doesn't answer the deeper questions. He said even the rocks will cry out. <br />
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Because of the God I believe in, because I know He created this, all of my problems seem so small. How else can I testify about Him? Without Him, I wouldn't have survived.<br />
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Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-13828013919884218952012-10-26T17:24:00.001-05:002012-10-26T17:24:44.154-05:00Do You Keep Getting Up When You're Kicked Down?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm tired tonight. Breck has tickets to see The Flaming Lips, but I'm too tired and the thought of the freezing cold wind that will be blowing at the outside arena isn't helping either. I don't want to go anywhere. In the face of inevitable uncertainty, I just want to hide under a rock.<br />
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So my employment situation isn't as secure as I thought. I have a month to get my sales up. Despite the fact we don't advertise at all, I have been trying to drum up business. It's hard to do when you are on your own. I can tell people think I have a cushy job in a nice chair, just sitting here. But it's not that easy trying to force people to buy into your product. Voice mails, telephone calls, failed projects, passing out fliers at colleges...this is getting exhausting. Add to that calling public schools and business associations--I'm just tired of getting turned down, or being forwarded to someone who doesn't answer. Maybe it wasn't the greatest business idea for Oklahoma, or maybe it's just not in the right part of town. I resent the fact that it's all on my shoulders. If I knew that pushing for sales was going to be this hard, then I wouldn't have applied. I wanted a job that didn't require sales/marketing. I love formatting and designing books--don't get me wrong. I love that part. But it's very discouraging to see how this is all turning out, when I'm not sure where to go next or how to make it work.<br />
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We're supposed to go to some Halloween party later tonight too. I don't really want to see anyone. I just want to disappear for a while in the solitude of a warm blanket on a couch and watch The Office. Is that awful of me? </div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-1878737034979865602012-10-19T18:18:00.001-05:002012-11-14T16:37:24.903-06:00Reaching Across the Rift<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Do you sometimes see people, people you don't even know, and wonder if you could glimpse into their lives? Oh, to be a fly on the wall...<br />
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Yesterday evening, I sat outside after a good run. I find that my most spiritual experiences usually happen when I'm running. I see people driving, taking out the trash, and there's others being dropped off, maybe at a friend's house? I watch them while I'm running, and I think to myself, "God, how should I reach these people? Who do you want me to see or speak to?" I pray for them. I pray that God would touch their lives somehow, whether through me or someone else. It all starts at square one...prayer.<br />
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While jogging and wheezing (yeah, ragweed kicks my butt this time of year), I think about how far our nation is from God. How much we hate Him and push Him away. We're afraid of what He could do in us. He could change everything, and doing that would be painful. Or He could put us in places that we don't think we should be; He could keep us from having that job, getting that house, or doing what we believe we were born to do.<br />
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While running, I realize that I could be in this apartment complex for the rest of my life, if that's where He wants me. We're called to stop thinking of ourselves, but to think of Him first, and then others. I pray for forgiveness for my shortcomings, for my stupidity. I pray for forgiveness for us American Christians. We aren't where we need to be. We're too connected to our money and our success. Maybe we're too connected to our pride, our families, but most of all, our comfort.<br />
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It's not going to be comfortable. Loving the needy and difficult people in the world...yeah, that's hard. In my complex, I see them everyday. A lot of them walk to work nearby, McDonald's or Sonic. They have little children who don't have their daddies. They are older people, alone and shut up in their apartments. They are blind, mentally handicapped...most of them are hurting. Many of them are living for the weekend.<br />
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It hurts when I step outside of myself to see them. I mean to REALLY see them. I sat in the grass, and watched a girl roller-blade down the drive. People were coming in and out of doors. I remember thinking that if I could, I would dissolve into the air, invisible and watch them forever. Maybe I could intervene when I should...if I could shed this body for a few hours, and float in the cool to see them more, I would. The moist air was intoxicating, enough to bring tears to my eyes. I could see how much He loves them, and how much I've fallen short in loving them. God, forgive me. <br />
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I soaked it all in, got up, and walked back to my home, where my husband and dogs were napping on the couch. All I could think was: <i>Thank You God, for loving me...for loving us. But more than anything, thank You for still speaking to me in the quietness of the night. Thank You for Your still small voice, and making me be still enough to hear it.</i></div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-26631046955652355232012-10-17T11:05:00.000-05:002012-10-17T11:06:15.688-05:00Oh, oh...Here We Go!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, I'm out of birth control. And we're going to see what happens. I used to be scared to death of even the thought of children--well me having children. I kept seeing myself as a terrible mother; the thought of Breck and I not being ready dominated my thoughts on the subject. But, it's like everyone says...is anyone ever ready?<br />
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We have two dogs, but they are relatively easy to take care of. I work full-time, Breck is in school and will be for the next three and a half years. What are we going to do money-wise? I don't know. How about time-wise? I have no clue. Daycare? Jeez louise, that crap is expensive. Where will we live then? Ummm...yeah.<br />
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I start to wind myself up with all of these questions. But what can I do about them? Nothing for now. That's where God must come in. He needs to show up for those things. My parents had four of us, and there wasn't always a lot of money, but we made it. I don't remember feeling like we didn't have much. Actually, I felt like we were well taken care of. I have to remember that God will take care of us, like He did when I was younger. He has up until this point. Why would He stop now and leave us hanging?<br />
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Perfect love casts out all fear. I should love Him and trust Him so much that there is no fear. Just faith. I'm learning how to do that. It's hard for a girl that has a planner with appointments months and months away. But I need to let Him drive my life. I don't even know if I should have been taking birth control. Why do we have to be in control of everything? Why do I think my plans will work out? They never do when I don't pray about them. The point is, He should be leading me. He should be the calming Peace that stills me. Lord help me. It will definitely be hard, but I admit, it's thrilling to let go of yet another part of my life and let Him decide. <br />
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So, with the possibility of becoming pregnant in the next few months, I'm not drinking caffeine, trying to eat healthy, and drinking tons of water. I've been running, and I don't know if I should still be doing that. I don't think many people read this, but if you have any tips, let me know. I don't know what the heck I'm doing. :)</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-11187924758468840402012-09-25T12:42:00.000-05:002012-09-25T14:15:40.642-05:00My Hair is Always a Mess<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have this thing called trichotillomania, or hair pulling. It resides along with my OCD/bipolar/borderline personality disorder. YEAH, I'm not sure if I'm all of those. In fact, I know I have trichotillomania/OCD, but I highly doubt I have bipolar, but rather BPD.<br />
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Anyway, we won't go into my lists of diagnoses. Hair pulling is something I have done since the age of 13. I remember plucking out my eyelashes and eyebrows in junior high. I spent hours in front of the mirror, usually until 2 or 3 in the morning, pulling out my eyelashes and eyebrow hairs. I wanted them to be balanced, and they wouldn't be; and even if they were, I wouldn't see it for my neurotic, slanted perception of myself. At certain points, I had no eyebrows or eyelashes. My grandmother used to tell me that they wouldn't grow back, and I told her that wasn't true-- I knew because I had been pulling them out for several years. They usually grew back within a month at first, then two or three months after constantly pulling them out. <br />
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Even when I was watching TV, I would sit and pull out my eyelashes. I also did this while reading. It relieved my stress, and it angered me when anyone pointed it out or told me to stop. I obsessed over hair, and yet the thought of it grossed me out. I hated hair.<br />
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This intense hatred of hair started long ago, when I was little. While taking baths, my mother's hair would blanket the tub. It floated around in the bath, covering my arms and legs. It freaked me out. My poor mother couldn't help it. She has thick, thick wiry hair. She loses massive amounts of it, I mean, complete handfuls in a day. I can't blame her at all, because my hair is the same way. I shed like a dog.<br />
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But, since her hair freaked me out when I was little, I make sure my hair is out of the shower and bath. I don't want it on the sink. I don't want it anywhere. Yuck. Hair is so gross.<br />
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I would love to not even have hair. How wonderful would that be. <br />
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So, yes, I am crazy. Seriously weird and crazy. I'm so lucky I married a German boy with no body hair. I thank God every day for that. </div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3567543730495685677.post-18945772462909844652012-09-22T13:39:00.000-05:002012-09-27T13:42:29.999-05:00The Quiet Peace<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I haven't written in quite a while. For once, busyness isn't the only reason. I am also more at peace than I have been in my whole entire life; it's the kind of peace that drowns me and swallows me up whole. I'm glad to have such a wonderful husband, and I'm happy with my job. I'm happy with life, generally. Every once in a while, I have a bout of depression, but it's been good lately.<br />
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I don't really know how to deal with the feeling of peace. It's strange, yet pleasant. I sit at home on the couch next to my husband, with my head on his shoulder. I think in anger and stress I was missing out on life and so many other great things. Breck's childish humor, cooking food without freaking out about how it looks or tastes, taking care of our crazy dogs... no matter what is going on, lately I can feel God's grace. I don't have to plan everything. I don't have to have the strength to make it through everyday. That would be just me trying to do it all myself. In the fight to be independent and handle my own problems, I forfeited marvelous grace. I crumbled under the weight of all my problems and life itself. I became so weak. But there's something wonderful about knowing how weak I am, and that has taken the burden off of my shoulders. It's such a wondrous feeling.<br />
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I love my life. I love that I can trust Someone to handle my life for me. I'm nothing but a conduit, and I need to stop letting myself get in the way of God's grace. His grace heals everything I can't. It carries me through things that I can't change, and yet in His power, it all changes. I think mountains are moving now.</div>
Kaylea Burkharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06895321567033183272noreply@blogger.com2