<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635712968390135923</id><updated>2011-07-30T19:31:09.611-07:00</updated><title type='text'>all shall be well</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Kristen Julianna Leach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08399947141057648626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N4vJ-65Mc_k/SnO469bqadI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jChKKAX8xtY/S220/leach-shuffield-43.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>5</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635712968390135923.post-6431171417761900596</id><published>2009-10-08T13:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T14:03:34.939-07:00</updated><title type='text'>this will not Resolve</title><content type='html'>so.&lt;br /&gt;a couple of months ago our church service was a service of thanksgiving.  and people got up and shared about what they were thankful for.  how they saw god working in and through their lives.  and before the sharing began, eric gave a brief message of how a life of gratitude is an opposite life of that of idolatry.  In the scripture he read (which eludes me at this moment), the distinction was made that if we are not showing/feeling/expressing/living GRATITUDE for god, that we are living for idols.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and it kind of clicked for me that day that i was indeed living for an idol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ask yourself what areas of your life you are ungrateful for. &lt;br /&gt;do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i realized that in most of those unthankful areas, the person i was serving, that was not pleased, that wanted more was MYSELF.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i am my own idol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;all the standards that i try to maintain and all the perfection and selflessness that i strive for is not done in the sight and knowledge and wonder that jesus christ is lord.  and that god is almighty. and that i am and will always be a redeemed sinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;no, it is out of a vain effort that my life is ungraciously lived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and this ingratitude, this idolatry, struck me particularly in the issue of my appearance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i loathe the appearance of my body.  i do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i hate the sight of myself in a mirror.  and i have discovered in the last couple months or so&lt;br /&gt;just&lt;br /&gt;how&lt;br /&gt;GUILTY i feel for the way that i look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i never recognized this emotion at first because it is not a naturally evident one. &lt;br /&gt;but it is EXACTLY how i've felt.&lt;br /&gt;god can in no way be pleased with how i look because i have not taken care of myself, i am unhealthy. i have not honored his creation. &lt;br /&gt;he must be saddened. disappointed at the sight of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;how trivial appearance sounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but it isn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it affects me. all of me.  my thoughts, feelings, my confidence. &lt;br /&gt;it affects my relationship with seth, with others, with god, and with myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the way i look is no trivial issue.&lt;br /&gt;in fact it is huge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****to be continued****&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7635712968390135923-6431171417761900596?l=forcominghome.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/feeds/6431171417761900596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/10/this-will-not-resolve.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/6431171417761900596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/6431171417761900596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/10/this-will-not-resolve.html' title='this will not Resolve'/><author><name>Kristen Julianna Leach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08399947141057648626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N4vJ-65Mc_k/SnO469bqadI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jChKKAX8xtY/S220/leach-shuffield-43.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635712968390135923.post-2673501310460757847</id><published>2009-08-08T17:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T17:49:34.539-07:00</updated><title type='text'>fear and the opposite</title><content type='html'>i don't know when safety became the ultimate virtue to me.&lt;br /&gt;and i don't know why all of a sudden i felt a strong and desperate urge to hide within security.&lt;br /&gt;and answer any questions.  and avoid any dillemas that may have occured in my future.&lt;br /&gt;and save myself trials that &lt;em&gt;might&lt;/em&gt; have happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i don't know why it happened. but it did. and it wasn't only &lt;em&gt;desire&lt;/em&gt; that was calling out for these things.--for safety and security and avoidance and answered questions. &lt;br /&gt;no, not desire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it was more urgent.&lt;br /&gt;more...desperate.&lt;br /&gt;more fearful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i don't know what caused me to be frightened.  but i do know that it was not exactly warranted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i need to take this job that i will like less than the one i have now because i need to know that if i get sick, i will have insurance.  and i need to know that i will have money in the winter when the tourists go home and the town shuts down.  i need to KNOW. i need to have FAITH in this future that i want to CONTROL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this is a good job.  it would be a nice place to work.  i might even enjoy it.  i'm still considering if i'll take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but i'm not going to do it if it's out of fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;safety is not the way of life.  it is not highlighted in my past, my experience, my history.  it is not the way of my God.  it is not that which enables me for trust in his provision.  it speaks out of a terror that is nonexistant at the moment.  i am being pressured and worried by abstract ideas that are not even issues to me as of yet--health insurance for my children that i do not have, nights off so i can cook dinner--for only myself seeing as my husband will get home close to midnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"security" if you can call it that (and you can't if you're being truthful) cannot be the presiding factor in my decisions--whether it means leaving or staying.... it cannot be trusted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7635712968390135923-2673501310460757847?l=forcominghome.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/feeds/2673501310460757847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/08/fear-and-opposite.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/2673501310460757847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/2673501310460757847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/08/fear-and-opposite.html' title='fear and the opposite'/><author><name>Kristen Julianna Leach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08399947141057648626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N4vJ-65Mc_k/SnO469bqadI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jChKKAX8xtY/S220/leach-shuffield-43.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635712968390135923.post-8321939061336010639</id><published>2009-07-31T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T20:37:04.708-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i feel silent but i won't fill silence</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;there is something within me that is at rest these days.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;it is that which i used to mask with ambivalence.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;the need to speak.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;to be creative.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;to be perceived as intelligent and thoughtful and morally sound.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;and now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;now,  i have nothing to say. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;not from lack of &lt;em&gt;something&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#333399;"&gt;but for lack of need.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7635712968390135923-8321939061336010639?l=forcominghome.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/feeds/8321939061336010639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-feel-silent-but-i-wont-fill-silence.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/8321939061336010639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/8321939061336010639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-feel-silent-but-i-wont-fill-silence.html' title='i feel silent but i won&apos;t fill silence'/><author><name>Kristen Julianna Leach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08399947141057648626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N4vJ-65Mc_k/SnO469bqadI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jChKKAX8xtY/S220/leach-shuffield-43.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635712968390135923.post-9023072485494804385</id><published>2009-07-20T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T14:37:05.905-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thundersoul-my Native American name</title><content type='html'>I sit by the window in my apartment, on the uncomfortable wicker chair.  The straps of my tank top pulling against my sunburned shoulders, and the computer sitting on my bare thighs--also sunburned from the hours spent on the lake. &lt;br /&gt;I am listening to the rain. &lt;br /&gt;And along with it, the thunder.  It sounds like my soul feels.  Like a big jumbled mass of something--an unsure, unnamed, immaterial substance--that is wrapped and covered in lots of thick fabric, bouncing about--loudly.  The substance, like my soul, is heavy.  And the fabric does not let it breathe.  It is not cotton or linen or cheesecloth.  It is something thicker.  And it bounces and bumbles around, like the thunder, between the full, sturdy walls of a small space or the large, encumbered mass rolls down stairs that lead to someplace dreary or hopeful--we can't tell yet.&lt;br /&gt;I feel like things have been piling, piling, piling. Nothing has been processed in a while.  And I have felt generically sad for the past two days.  I miss alone time. Thinking time. Debriefing with myself and God time.  Time for me to be analytical and introspective and thoughtful.&lt;br /&gt;I dunno how much good it does, but it keeps the thunder inside my soul from making those sharp, loud, cracking noises.  And it keeps the tears at bay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7635712968390135923-9023072485494804385?l=forcominghome.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/feeds/9023072485494804385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/07/thundersoul-my-native-american-name.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/9023072485494804385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/9023072485494804385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/07/thundersoul-my-native-american-name.html' title='Thundersoul-my Native American name'/><author><name>Kristen Julianna Leach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08399947141057648626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N4vJ-65Mc_k/SnO469bqadI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jChKKAX8xtY/S220/leach-shuffield-43.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635712968390135923.post-852946913164008643</id><published>2009-07-17T20:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T20:59:02.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>three weeks so far</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;It has hit me in no big way that I am married. I catch myself saying the words, "my fiance" and correcting myself before I sound like a confused idiot.  I've had no big &lt;em&gt;entrance&lt;/em&gt;, so to speak, into the married world.  The wedding seems only self-contained. Like it was what it was. --A party. And it was great and wonderful and full of meaning, but nothing like a pair of gates, opening up into this much-anticipated new chapter of my life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Marriage is very little what I thought it would be.  It is great.  But not in ways that I imagined, and it is difficult in no ways thus far that I expected. I feel closest to him, not during any fixed times or events.  There are no equations that he or I or we could follow to produce intimacy in situations.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;It hits me, like all good things, those feelings of affection and belonging and freedome, when I am not seeking them out so much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;The most surprising thing is how dominate are the feelings of failure and how affective they are on the rest of our relationship, the rest of my life. Also surprising is how &lt;em&gt;Real&lt;/em&gt; marriage is.  Just life.        Together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;It is very simple in its routines. And of the actions and reactions of our dynamic.  And topping everything in shock value is the lack of emotional awareness that I possess.  We are &lt;em&gt;married.  Forever.&lt;/em&gt;   And it doesn't phase me.  It seems I haven't yet noticed, it hasn't caught my mind's eye, that we are One.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;I feel now, more than ever before like Kristen. And Seth. Living our very real and practical lives.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;Before marriage, I feel like I was highly in tune with the spiritual sanctity, importance, and meaning of it.  I was well acquainted and thoughtful on its symbolism and of the privelege and responsibility of being a wife.  I already feel like I am unlearning these things.  I feel more like Kristen. More like myself.  And less competent in being a wife.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;The thought that I am living with this whole other person over whom my actions and demeanor have so much influence is a shocking and unnatural thought to me.  Sometimes I feel like if I could actually perceive the degree of responsibility and influence that are involved, I never would've married.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;I think the stars in our eyes are good for something.  They lead us to the road, and get us started--walking on the path that leads us to know ourselves better.  And eventually, to receive grace and love for being just whoever that is.  It is almost an embarassing thing to realize.  And that, I think, is an appropriate response to such Mercies.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7635712968390135923-852946913164008643?l=forcominghome.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/feeds/852946913164008643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/07/three-weeks-so-far.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/852946913164008643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7635712968390135923/posts/default/852946913164008643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://forcominghome.blogspot.com/2009/07/three-weeks-so-far.html' title='three weeks so far'/><author><name>Kristen Julianna Leach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08399947141057648626</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N4vJ-65Mc_k/SnO469bqadI/AAAAAAAAAAM/jChKKAX8xtY/S220/leach-shuffield-43.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
