tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46715160094948680492024-03-12T19:10:00.644-04:00Rhonda's RamblingsRhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-3399542909378105862013-09-22T07:05:00.002-04:002013-11-02T11:09:19.412-04:00While You Were Sleeping<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Dearest Robin,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />The call came from your mother at 5:20 this afternoon, that you were ready for our evening walk. I hurriedly put on my shoes, headed for the door and a minute later was greeted by you; fed, happy, and wearing a T-shirt inscribed with the message “I Love Grandpa”. You fussed at first as we set off with the stroller clanking over the rough street, but soon you fell asleep. We didn’t talk much but just being together was special. It was a quiet thoughtful moment in time. <br /><br />As we moved along the sidewalks the clatter of the wheels hitting the cracks made a rhythmic sound, something like a heart beating. I imagined your little heart beating and sensed its importance, pumping a seemingly endless river of life through your tiny body. The little heart on your shirt, the symbol of love, got me pondering its significance. Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eyes. A heart full of love sees the goodness in others, the joy of giving and the art of kindness. You see, my sweet Robin, love is the most excellent way to live.<br /><br />It was a warm late summer evening. The sun was setting, casting long lingering shadows. I noticed a crabapple tree along the pathway burdened down with hundreds of apples and a field of grape vines strained by the weight of a sweet crop; a reminder of a God that loves us abundantly and provides for us in this wonderful world he has created.<br /><br />As I looked across the field of grapes I could see a house transformed by its new owners. It used to be the home of my Great Uncle Lem and Great Aunt Edna. They were kind folks. Lem was always quick with a funny story while Edna quietly made her guests comfortable, by offering them treats and displaying genuine pleasure in seeing them.<br /><br />A few minutes later we passed the home where our friends Johnny and Jo live. I remember them fussing over your mother at church when she was your age, sometimes smiling at your mom's cute ways, not showering her with expensive gifts but just being a kindly presence in her life. <br /><br />Love is sometimes like the gentle evening breeze. You can’t see it but you can feel it. I don’t suppose I thought much about this when I was young, but as I get older I realize that these wonderful people and many others were teaching me and your mom about love. Their love surrounded us and made us warm inside. It gave us confidence to become what God wants us to be and it gave us the courage to love unconditionally. Their love taught us to live a more excellent way. As you grow, Robin, may you sense that there is a vast number of people who love you and may you flourish in that love.<br /><br />Your shirt announces “I Love Grandpa“. My heart whispered, “ I Love You Robin” while you were sleeping.<br /><br />We’ll walk again soon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Warmly with love, Grandpa.</span><br />
<br />Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-5836958422948730422012-01-01T21:27:00.000-05:002012-01-01T21:27:23.448-05:00Lessons From 2011<br />
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Love
your enemies.” Ahh! Enemies give rise to lots of feelings, but
love is not one of them. When confronted with an enemy, emotions
like contempt, irritation, frustration, loathing grip me and hang on
like blood-sucking leaches. </span>
</div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> In
April of 2011 an enemy moved in with me, just crawled into the same
wee shell that I have occupied all my life and took control. I have
been anything but hospitable. I have railed against it and I have
used all my creative powers to try to evict it but it just clings
tightly and refuses to leave. My rival is named “Pain”.</span></div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Pain
has patiently waited while I have ranted and raved and berated it.
It keeps whispering, “You cannot harbour feelings of animosity and
feel content and at peace at the same time. I'm not going anywhere.
We could be much happier in these cramped quarters if you would
accept me, submit to my wishes, be merciful to me, hold me and cradle
me.” So here I am, slowly peeling off the leaches and cradling my
adversary. </span>
</div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Sometimes
I foolishly try to elbow pain out of the way and regain control of my
body. Pain screeches, “Oh no you don't! Remember! I'm in the
drivers seat now!” Pain allows me to give what I can and no more.
I am learning that I am not Superwoman and I am not indispensable.
Other people are very gracious about fulfilling the tasks that I
have been used to doing and they can do them well. Many things can
be left undone and the world still rotates on its axis. </span>
</div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> But I
loved doing all those things I used to do in my old life. It grieves
me to give them up. Pain compels me to learn that clinging to what
was is counterproductive. With every end there is a new beginning.
Embrace the new. </span>
</div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I'm
reminded that any control I may have deceived myself into thinking I
have in this life is very precarious at best. Every earthly comfort
or pleasure could be blown away in the blinking of an eye. I'm
learning to cherish the blessings that are mine at this moment,
knowing that they are fleeting.</span></div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Where
would I be without corporate worship? Some Sundays I look around
while we sing songs like “How Great is Our God” or “Be Still My
Soul” and I see so many people who have suffered disappointments
and grief in their lives that make my problems seem comparatively
trite. Watching these people of faith while they sing humbles me and
gives me the strength to flap my wings and soar above the clouds. </span></div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Pain
has given me occasion to reflect on how blessed I am to be loved by
others. Sometimes having Ed hold me and cry with me has been just
what I needed. Invariably when I'm tempted to wallow in self-pity
one of my sisters phones me. We chat and laugh and I find myself
perked up and ready to carry on. My children have always been ready
to pick up the slack when I need them. My friends have
sympathetically listened to me grumble without judging either Pain or
me. So many people in the medical profession have gone the second
mile for me. Thank you for loving me. </span></div>
<div style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> With
pain comes hope, hope of reclaiming my earthly body and hope that
one day I will go to live with God. When I get to heaven God will
embrace me in His arms and say, “There, there! Its all over. You
are with me now and all the pain that comes with living in a mortal
body in an imperfect world is done.” “Therefore I do not become
discouraged (utterly spiritless, exhausted, and wearied out through
fear). Though my outer self is progressively decaying and wasting
away, yet my inner self is being progressively renewed day after
day.” II Corinthians 4:16. Thank you God for the lessons that come
with Pain.</span></div>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-86607495643992582032011-11-24T14:12:00.001-05:002011-11-24T15:05:37.156-05:00Everything I Need to Know to be Successful in School<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">
As a grade one teacher, I'm often asked what skills children should master before they enter first grade. As a result, I've researched this topic extensively and thought about it deeply. Based on my musings I have composed a list of concepts every child should grasp in order to cope with the rigors of the academic world as I know it.</div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<ol>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
TV's where designed to flit from
one thing to the next. You are not a TV.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Persevere</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Sleeves were invented to keep
your arms warm. They were never meant to replace a tissue.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Be a risk taker. It's okay to
make mistakes.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lunch pails were made for the
storage of food. Apples squirreled away in the back of a desk
eventually turn to apple sauce.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“May I please...” takes you
further than whining.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ears are for listening.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If adults were dogs, you would be
a tail. Tails were never meant to wag the dog.</div>
</li>
<li style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Be nice.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you can't be nice, at least
refrain from being nasty. Keep your tongue in your mouth, your
middle finger down and your hands and feet to yourself. </div>
<div style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #783f04;">Research indicates that the most important indicators of success in school are the ability to listen and follow instructions, delay gratification, remain focused for extended periods of time, and function in a social setting. Good luck to all of you out there with little ones who are preparing to leave the nest and take flight soon. I hope this is helpful.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
</li>
</ol>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-26539576657249447362010-12-31T20:44:00.000-05:002010-12-31T20:44:37.098-05:00Promises Made - Promises Kept<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Thirty-seven years ago today Ed made the following promise to me:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<em><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I stand in the presence of God and our families on this the eve of our lives together, ready to take you into my company and care, ready to take you as my wife. I promise to love you, to be faithful to you and to seek daily to grow closer to you as together we experience life's joys and life's sorrows. I'll be there to listen to your problems, to be understanding, to be a strength to you, to share and pray with you. I promise my friendship with the prayer that it might continue to grow, that together we may serve God, help others and help each other. I'll love you and cherish you and live harmoniously with you until separated by death. </span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: large;">For thirty-seven years<em> </em>Ed has consistently</span> </span><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">kept his promise. He is my greatest earthly treasure. Thank you for loving me Ed.</span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-1928895337068638372010-12-05T13:45:00.000-05:002013-11-02T11:09:47.033-04:00A Letter to Charlotte From Grandpa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS,cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Welcome, Charlotte Rose, </span></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS,cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On November 20, 2010, you came into the world weighing 8 lbs 3 ounces. You are such a precious little bundle. Your parents wanted to give you a name as special as you are so they named you Charlotte Rose - a name that blends two families together. You are a delight to your parents and your grandparents who loved you before you were born, love you more now and look forward to growing more in love with you with each passing day. When you arrived I waited patiently to hold you. Finally my turn came. Carefully I took you into my arms. Of course, the chorus of babble continued from your various admirers surrounding us. Despite the distractions, while I held you I could feel your little lungs moving air in and out, in and out with a graceful life giving rhythm. What a wonder you are Charlotte Rose. In the beginning a miracle of sperm and egg, small enough to be gingerly balanced on the head of a pin, yet with your future body, intelligence and personality so carefully marked out in a complex chemical code. You are one of God's most precious miracles that had a beginning and has a spirit within you that will never end. For the time being, your spirit is locked up in a beautiful little body with soft velvety skin and a head adorned with fine silky hair. You will gradually unfold into the unique person you were planned to be. As I held you and marveled at your beauty I was drawn to another infant that came into the world many years ago – Jesus, the Savior of the world. He arrived to bring mercy to those who seek Him, salvation to those who obey, spiritual sight and hearing to the alert.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS,cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As I held you the majestic music of Handel's Messiah stirred my soul as I thought of God as the God of you, my sweet Charlotte and the God of forever. The closing lines to this great work says “ And He shall reign forever, and ever. Forever and ever, Forever and ever. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” It is my sincere longing and prayer that your forever will be lovingly linked to the Messiah's forever.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS,cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I'll Love You Forever,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS,cursive;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grandpa.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-53807927373395005472010-10-23T05:45:00.001-04:002010-10-23T21:38:18.481-04:00A Prayer for Children<span style="font-size: 130%;"><b></b></span><br />
By <i>MARIAN WRIGHT EDELMAN</i><br />
<i> </i> <br />
We pray for children<br />
Who sneak popsicles before supper,<br />
Who erase holes in math workbooks,<br />
Who can never find their shoes.<br />
<br />
And we pray for those<br />
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,<br />
Who can't bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,<br />
Who never "counted potatoes,"<br />
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead,<br />
Who never go to the circus,<br />
Who live in an X-rated world.<br />
<br />
We pray for children<br />
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,<br />
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money.<br />
<br />
And we pray for those<br />
Who never get dessert,<br />
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,<br />
Who watch their parents watch them die,<br />
Who can't find any bread to steal,<br />
Who don't have any rooms to clean up,<br />
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,<br />
Whose monsters are real.<br />
<br />
We pray for children<br />
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,<br />
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,<br />
Who like ghost stories,<br />
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub,<br />
Who get visits from the tooth fairy,<br />
Who don't like to be kissed in front of the carpool,<br />
Who squirm in church or temple and scream in the phone,<br />
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.<br />
<br />
And we pray for those<br />
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,<br />
Who will eat anything,<br />
Who have never seen a dentist,<br />
Who aren't spoiled by anybody,<br />
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,<br />
Who live and move, but have no being.<br />
<br />
We pray for children who want to be carried and for those who must,<br />
For those we never give up on and for those who don't get a second chance.<br />
For those we smother ... and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.<br />
We pray for children.Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-9023512688907025372010-07-28T17:22:00.001-04:002010-07-29T14:52:21.153-04:00The Indispensable Vegetable<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Every spring the gardeners in our midst get itchy feet. As soon as the ground thaws, they are out there with a pocket full of seeds letting the soil sift between their fingers. They lovingly push the seeds into the ground with one hand and pull weeds out with the other hand. Then they sit back and watch with anticipation to see what sprouts. Some of these amateur agriculturists have corn flourishing in their backyard, some potatoes and some beans but one vegetable that every true gardener sows is zucchini. Zucchini is the vegetable of choice because zucchini gives one bragging rights. Just a little more than a fortnight after the sowers amongst us tenderly drop their first zucchini seed in the ground, you can hear the boast begin. “You should see my zucchini vine. Just yesterday it sprouted and now it’s a jungle back there. It’s already weaving its way all over my backyard.” Not long after that you hear the same horticulturists crow, “I have zucchinis back there that are almost three feet long.”</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> “If I do grow zucchinis what should I do with them?” you ask. “Everyone knows that as a vegetable a zucchini is virtually useless.” This is what you should do: While your zucchini is still ripening, scour the neighbourhood, watching for just the right person to present your prize vegetable to. Find a neighbour who is a skinflint, a domestic goddess and someone who has a kind and generous spirit. You must find a skinflint or your neighbour will quietly sneak out to her compost bin under the veil of darkness and unceremoniously dump your prize possession into that rotting debris. You must find a domestic goddess or she will leave your zucchini to rot on the counter while she goes about her business and you must find a person with a kind and generous spirit or she will keep the wares for herself. After you find just the right person wait until the hottest day in the summer, then present that unsuspecting neighbour with your prize zucchini. While you rest under the shade of your oak tree engulfed in a good book, she will be bustling about her overheated kitchen turning out all sorts of delicacies: zucchini cake, zucchini muffins, zucchini bread, zucchini cookies. In the cool of </span></span><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">the evening when you think to yourself, “My, it would be nice to have a wee something to wash down my tea,” she will come knocking on your door, laden down with all sorts </span></span><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">of mouth-</span></span><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">watering tidbits. As you gorge yourself on the last savory </span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXtcsJ2eUGIzc9Uydc7zcgFLbNm0dEY40pDKu_p_gy0MxZppuqWnXOz3VBt0j_rUfWvXr6TIHxRdY0S6DlSNgQq5W_ElaITpuySdkaxHyskVN9ESwxQfuO3Z6briUmSVYlvA1JGlO8H0j/s1600/zucchini+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXtcsJ2eUGIzc9Uydc7zcgFLbNm0dEY40pDKu_p_gy0MxZppuqWnXOz3VBt0j_rUfWvXr6TIHxRdY0S6DlSNgQq5W_ElaITpuySdkaxHyskVN9ESwxQfuO3Z6briUmSVYlvA1JGlO8H0j/s200/zucchini+002.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">morsel, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you deserve this tiny indulgence after all the work you did to grow that zucchini.</span></span></div>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-56461532200960026272010-07-14T11:54:00.012-04:002010-07-24T14:23:16.523-04:00Abundance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgik3E8TuUXqgwCIEWSX6ovsKv2o1L3TWSBUTRLQfwgojNl2hrXKZp8vQG6zY1Wl_f7ebzSw3iwERVi9tS17iuLkhUzu4a5CeQJ4UB107y055e8INiczpWYC34ej4ql9eDy0PKmAZIuk4B9/s1600/flowers+001.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgik3E8TuUXqgwCIEWSX6ovsKv2o1L3TWSBUTRLQfwgojNl2hrXKZp8vQG6zY1Wl_f7ebzSw3iwERVi9tS17iuLkhUzu4a5CeQJ4UB107y055e8INiczpWYC34ej4ql9eDy0PKmAZIuk4B9/s200/flowers+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493803471141898946" /></a><br />
<br />
Flowers = Abundance, <br />
Abundance of colour, <br />
Abundance of scents, <br />
Abundance of beauty.<br />
<br />
Jesus said "I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly."<br />
<br />
Abundance of joy,<br />
Abundance of peace,<br />
Abundance of love,<br />
Abundance of grace and mercy,<br />
<br />
When I drink in the beauty the surrounds me I am mindful of the beauty that abundantly flows through me when I bow down and say, "Not my will by Thine be done."Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-60359483800971677412010-06-12T11:26:00.006-04:002010-06-12T11:46:02.153-04:00Small Children: How They Empower Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sixuntilme.com/blog-mt1/images/November06/holding_hands.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 190px;" src="http://sixuntilme.com/blog-mt1/images/November06/holding_hands.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" > They light up when I come into the room.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >They never notice that my hair looks like a rat’s nest.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >Frumpy clothes don’t phase them.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >They don’t cover their ears when I am over exuberant.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >They don’t complain that I ramble on.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >When I screech them a song they say “Again, pleeeease!.”</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >They wade through my clutter thinking me a kindred spirit.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >Misspelled word are not within their radar.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >They beg me to join them in their playground games even when I’m a klutz. </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >My beliefs and opinions are never too radical or offensive to them .</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" >They are quick to forgive me when I hurt them.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-size:130%;" > They love me unconditionally.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;">God give me the grace to be as accepting of their quirks and idiosyncracies as they are of mine.</span></span><br /></div><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Rhonda/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" />Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-59639919583091994822010-03-16T19:56:00.002-04:002010-03-16T20:00:23.291-04:00Bringing Up Mother<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: courier new; color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">My children have dedicated their lives to bringing up their mother to be a credit to them. As I waddled my way through pregnancy and delivery they taught me that dignity is a luxury that is highly over-rated. During their infancy they taught me to love sacrificially. My babies and toddlers taught me to be still and to live in the moment. When they were little they showed me that looking at the world with a sense of wonder could help me find my way as I travel through life. During their childhood I learned patience. As teens they tried to cultivate in me a sense of style and sophistication that could be paraded in the public domain with no embarrassment to them. Instead I learned humility. As young adults they are teaching me to let go. Children - how could we ever grow up without them.</span><br /></span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-50348951366639201162010-02-16T19:37:00.004-05:002013-11-02T11:13:06.291-04:00Scrubbing and Cleaning Can Wait<span style="color: #000066; font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">Scrubbing and cleaning can wait till tomorrow<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier new;">For babies grow up we’ve learned to our sorrow.<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier new;">So settle down cobwebs, dust go to sleep,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier new;">I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.<br /></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: #000066; font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;"> My wise mother-in-law made me a cross stitched sampler when my first baby was born with this poem on it. It hung by my rocking chair and was a constant reminder that there was nothing I needed to accomplish that was nearly as important as time spent savoring the people God had entrusted me with. I think I might just hang it back up. </span></span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-59623462899536230052010-02-03T07:25:00.002-05:002013-11-02T11:13:50.465-04:00A Letter From Grandpa<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;"></span><span style="font-family: courier new;">Dear A.,<br /></span><span style="font-family: courier new;"> It is 11:23 a.m. January 21, 2010; twelve short hours after your birth. A few minutes after you were born Grandpa and Grandma gazed with amazement upon you; a miracle, conceived in love, nurtured by your mom and dad and skillfully delivered by the hospital staff. We are thankful for your safe arrival and for a gracious God who makes provision for such a miracle as you. Today is the beginning of life for your precious soul with intelligence and emotion to expedience each day to its fullest; both its joys and its sorrows, and a spirit to guide you now and into eternity. May God grant us all, as your family and community, with love and the wisdom to provide you with the nurturing necessary to propel you into a long spirit guided useful life - a life of love and service to God and kindness and compassion for others so that you may soar and become everything God destined you to be with His grace.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Warmly, always with love,</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Grandpa</span></span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-55502868617940924712010-01-21T06:14:00.004-05:002013-11-02T11:13:32.407-04:00Our Precious Boy<br />
<br />
It was ten o'clock at night when we I was jarred out of my stuper by a call from the hospital. "They are doing a C-section," our son said. "If you get here by 11:00 they will let you see the baby for a few minutes." (A few minutes turned into almost two glorious hours.) Mom is doing better than expected. Baby weighs 7 lb. 5 oz. Dad is glowing. Grandpa marveled, "How can anyone so beautiful be formed by two cells coming together?" Me, I'm a happy, exhausted grandmother. Nanna and Pappa G. are sad that they couldn't be here but thanks to modern technology, saw pictures of their grandchild as soon as we saw him.<br />
Here he is. Isn't he amazing? Thank you to all of you who have been praying for his safe arrival over the last several months.Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-90297588804202137012009-12-26T21:04:00.002-05:002009-12-30T11:39:05.250-05:00The Matriarch<span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:courier new;">She bore little resemblance to the picture on the mantle of the radiant young bride. That picture was taken over sixty years ago. Today she sat in the corner at the family gathering with her white hair plastered tight against her head, wearing her pale blue blouse with the pink flower print, tucked into her polyester pants with the elastic waist. She had on her grey orthopedic shoes. Her hearing wasn’t what it used to be and there she sat, the matriarch of the family, unable to follow the conversations that were going on around her. Was it really worth the effort to bring her to these family gatherings? But look more closely. You will see the beauty of Christ reflected in her eyes as she gazes at her family gathered around her and if you listen carefully you will hear her say the same words to you that God said to His people thousands of years ago, “You are precious to me. I love you and give you honour.” When she is no longer able to attend these family get togethers it will feel like the fire has sputtered and died and no longer provides light and warmth for the family.</span></span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-73348475181160692922009-11-29T22:54:00.005-05:002009-11-29T23:11:21.169-05:00Which Lap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIdAezU5k2OI-JQyc5H5tQCGBRd_Kvwg6KClvyj_A7fuQHMFky8fV-rjDMJp88b6vpSFyCrJ2o_IP7jGt1Zeif6DLTtNmOfhxp6cz3yH5cVVT6yt0BXnDBO6kQvDpwskleBGC83JGrNPH/s1600/santa.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 127px; height: 101px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIdAezU5k2OI-JQyc5H5tQCGBRd_Kvwg6KClvyj_A7fuQHMFky8fV-rjDMJp88b6vpSFyCrJ2o_IP7jGt1Zeif6DLTtNmOfhxp6cz3yH5cVVT6yt0BXnDBO6kQvDpwskleBGC83JGrNPH/s200/santa.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409740500295312386" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He said, “Come child, come sit on my lap.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">“Have you been a good girl?” he asked. “I don’t give toys to naughty children you know.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I assured him that I had been good.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">“Have you cried? I don’t like crying and pouting.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">“No I never cry. Sometimes I feel like it but I suck it up.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">“Good girl,” he said. “Now tell me what would you like for Christmas? I can have my elves make you whatever trinkets your heart desires.” (It wasn’t until later that I learned that his elves where really children working in sweat shops in third world countries.)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NuiK91i4NhEPqpwizeXJzV8buxLayux0pbv6r4m-bNhFaxr4FQKViHIFjgTBKtLIhDMH5jcdEo9xbb_QPyZDPvesecJzFDFX_pGmdNbntzKAdzyWrHF-KacTsIEdLYpe10aDEPA3_oou/s1600/jesus+on+cross.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 80px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NuiK91i4NhEPqpwizeXJzV8buxLayux0pbv6r4m-bNhFaxr4FQKViHIFjgTBKtLIhDMH5jcdEo9xbb_QPyZDPvesecJzFDFX_pGmdNbntzKAdzyWrHF-KacTsIEdLYpe10aDEPA3_oou/s200/jesus+on+cross.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409741028761382802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">He said, “Come child. Come unto me.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">“Oh no I couldn’t.” I said. “I’m not good enough to come into your presence.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">“Nonsense! My love is not conditional on your goodness. I molded you in your mother’s womb. I have delighted in you since before you were born. Just come as you are.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I came. He comforted me while I poured out my pent up tears.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">He lavished me with gifts.....gifts like an exuberance for life, serenity, and the ability to love others freely.</span><br /><br />I was left with a choice. What would I celebrate this winter..... Santamas or Christmas.Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-62048019288512630932009-10-10T21:58:00.006-04:002009-10-11T07:47:05.084-04:00Humpty Dumpty<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8_3SCG1D3mvGS4Mr2QoT8HqB_6ioPx7aFnKRsMbfy8FMITgBw-0Ez02g1Af4xJqJL-0HV3qHG7vzueSZcMqv-WzbpeeCs_pNyyKHrktMHHDBZqERGjCwwtN9Ea1eRfUTrDY-EEynQCOX/s1600-h/humpty_dumpty_000.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8_3SCG1D3mvGS4Mr2QoT8HqB_6ioPx7aFnKRsMbfy8FMITgBw-0Ez02g1Af4xJqJL-0HV3qHG7vzueSZcMqv-WzbpeeCs_pNyyKHrktMHHDBZqERGjCwwtN9Ea1eRfUTrDY-EEynQCOX/s200/humpty_dumpty_000.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391156354590616082" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" > </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >All the kings horses a</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >nd all the kings men </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >Couldn’t put Humpty together again.</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >So there lay Humpty - broken, lonely and dejected </span><span style="font-size:180%;">u</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >ntil he looked to his Maker with tear stained eyes and a submissive heart. </span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >His Maker picked Humpty up and meticulously t</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >ransformed him into a</span> <span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" >stronger and more radiant egg than he had ever been </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;" > before.</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIaRH55efP_2QOiyTlJyr6G4zxcx_GpZnzD29h2l29IbSfXCawfOOHUkKTfXNmDoHdLYc4bPHMhhoeqMzK_SdgGvpgsOyJo7vabq0lqkRCUFM8q96g64B4hVNTJAjhDaZ5wU1EiTSMhskZ/s1600-h/humptyswing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIaRH55efP_2QOiyTlJyr6G4zxcx_GpZnzD29h2l29IbSfXCawfOOHUkKTfXNmDoHdLYc4bPHMhhoeqMzK_SdgGvpgsOyJo7vabq0lqkRCUFM8q96g64B4hVNTJAjhDaZ5wU1EiTSMhskZ/s200/humptyswing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391157315841727186" border="0" /></a></span></div>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-60706503392701484592009-09-07T20:57:00.006-04:002009-09-07T22:40:44.740-04:00The Way I See It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0KVz4OT0v-yBBqz_7FHuoa4MkuXMiT28h0N0uieQwhe6-L2BKNS8rnKWvTeVWrTjhKX_2zELlN9mbAulbUss3oc9UjDkCKGvqTRmaog_-9IzPbcuMPicKweBd64mvARWxihrgRSjPGjv/s1600-h/charlie+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0KVz4OT0v-yBBqz_7FHuoa4MkuXMiT28h0N0uieQwhe6-L2BKNS8rnKWvTeVWrTjhKX_2zELlN9mbAulbUss3oc9UjDkCKGvqTRmaog_-9IzPbcuMPicKweBd64mvARWxihrgRSjPGjv/s200/charlie+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378905578686264562" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Hello! My name is Charlie. I spend a lot of time in quiet reflection. As a result I have acquired several pearls of wisdom.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">This is what I have learned:</span><br /><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>You don't <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to do anything. If you just sit and watch the world it will still continue to rotate.</li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>You might as well just enjoy the moment. </li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>It's wise to find pleasure in little things.</li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Play hard. It heals the body and refreshes the mind.</li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Be curious about the world. It's amazing what you can learn.</li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Choose your friends cautiously. Not everyone who goes gaga over you has your best interests at heart.<br /></li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Don't let the mood of others dictate your mood. Sometimes when others are grumpy they just need someone like you to show them a little love.</li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Eat when you're hungry and stop eating when you're satisfied.</li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Time spent having a nice relaxing bath before going to bed will help you sleep.<br /></li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Stretch your body and mind. It keeps them flexible. </li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>Greet your loved ones warmly every time you see them. <br /></li></ul><ul style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><li>There's nothing as satisfying as snuggling up with someone you love and having a nice nap and that's just what I'm going to do right now. <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">I hope you've enjoyed my pearls of wisdom.<br /></span></li></ul><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-89566956001979599442009-08-28T12:05:00.004-04:002010-01-11T05:43:37.584-05:00Set Free<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> The pain in my neck and back was excruciating and I was so weary I felt I couldn’t take another step but still I continued to trudge on under the weight of my heavy load. A man came up beside me and asked, “What are you carrying in such an enormous backpack?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “I have many important things in here, things I can’t afford to give up,” I answered.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “Like what?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “Well, I have my pride and my selfishness, all my bitterness and grudges, my loneliness and addictions. My broken relationships are all here. I have my guilt. Then there’s my greed with its competitiveness, consumption, and constant longing for more.........more money, more stuff, more power, more accolades, just more. And then there’s all the rules and conventions I must follow so God won’t look down on me and so my friends and neighbours won’t shun me and sneer at me behind my back. I have even more in here than that but I’m sure you’ve heard enough.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “I’ll take your backpack and carry it for you,” he offered. “Then you’ll be free.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> It seemed like a lot to burden someone else with. I didn’t want to give it to him at first, but he looked so eager to relieve me of it that at last I relented and strapped it on his back. Before I skipped off I paused. “Hey wait a minute!” I said. “Free! Free to do what?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “Free to absorb my love.” he said. “Free to show empathy, compassion and generosity to all you meet. Free to love unconditionally. Free to be at peace with God, your neighbour and all of creation. Free to celebrate.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “Oh, by the way,” he warned. “People will try to saddle you with other backpacks. Don’t let them. Remember me.”</span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-25976390705486433592009-08-24T09:30:00.004-04:002009-08-24T09:36:07.292-04:00Unorthodox Teaching<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Orthodox* religion is like snow in the spring. It is dull and gray and has no ability to instill joy or peace. It’s just there and everyone wishes the rains would come and wash it away.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> What about orthodox teaching? When teachers base their teaching practices on traditions, refined agendas, programs and materials, carefully constructed curriculum or the desire to gain the approval of others, is their teaching like the dull, gray snow in spring? My goal as a teacher is to shed my orthodoxy and respond from my compassion for each child and from my desire to help that child reach his or her potential. I will value the child’s exploration and investigations. I will talk less while I watch and listen to the children more. I will reflect on what the children say and do, and use my refection as my barometer to guide me in stretching my students as they grow as learners. I will have high expectations of myself as a learner and a teacher and I will have high expectations of my students as members of a community of learners. I will ask thoughtful questions and anticipate thoughtful answers. I will make every effort to elevate each child in her own eyes and in the eyes of others. I will celebrate each child and his thinking rather than dismiss the child and his thinking. My teaching will be anchored in my knowledge of the curriculum and good pedagogy but this will not be my guiding force. At the helm of what I do as a teacher will be my goal to have a class that is like a shimmering blanket of new fallen snow that lies soft and white upon the ground instilling joy, peace and a love of learning in all who come through the door. This crowns my task. The degree to which my practices are aligned with my ideals will be the degree to which I will be successful as a teacher.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Orthodox* - adhering to:</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> 1) traditions</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> 2) what is accepted</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> 3)what is customary</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> 4)what is approved by authority</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> -conforming to established practices or standards</span><br /> -being loyal to a system of rules and regulations at all costsRhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-59433588253982967132009-08-15T19:40:00.003-04:002009-08-15T19:53:11.555-04:00Contemplate the Caterpillar<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> One day a man was strolling through life when he came to a tree, a magnificent tree with its branches stretching toward heaven. On the trunk of the tree his caterpillar was camouflaged against the bark slowly making its ascent up the trunk of the tree. The caterpillar was called Time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> The man contemplated his caterpillar for a while and then he continued his journey until he approached a fork in the road. He must choose which path he would follow. He chose to walk the path of submission rather than the path of self-will. As he continued to travel he was lavished with many fine gifts. He was given suffering and he became wise. He was given kindness and he was kind. He was granted mercy and he was merciful. He was given forgiveness and he forgave others. Love was bestowed upon him and he loved. He was filled with joy and he gave thanks. He was blessed with faith and he glorified his maker.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Meanwhile, his caterpillar reached the end of its journey at the top of the utmost branch of the tree. There it was transformed into a beautiful butterfly, took wing and soared above the clouds into eternity.</span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-40865002791326767582009-08-03T19:28:00.007-04:002009-08-03T19:54:08.253-04:00Prepare to Fly<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> I’m a nice person most of the time and most of the children I teach are decent people. Our classroom is usually a haven of rest for the little people who occupy it but it can be a scary world outside the walls of our classroom. Wolves abound. How can I prepare my little fledglings to leave the safety of my wings and soar like eagles far above the wolves that roam the earth? How can I teach them to walk tall and confidently but at the same time to be watchful for the dangers that may lurk around the next corner? How can I prepare them to be neither predator nor prey? With enough encouragement, exhortation and coercion will they grow to be responsible and safe citizens in our society? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Little Ashley gave me food for thought one day. “You know what?” she asked the class. “My daddy is kind of like the first little pig who built his house out of straw because Daddy drives everywhere instead of walking. He wants to get there fast and he doesn’t think about the bad things that could happen, like the air getting dirty. That’s like the first little pig. It just wanted to build its house fast and it didn’t think about the bad things that could happen later on, like getting eaten by a wolf.” Wow! This nugget of wisdom was presented by a moppet who wasn’t as old as the sweater I was wearing at the time. From there a huge discussion erupted about the importance of being responsible and working hard and the necessity of caring for the environment even when it is inconvenient.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> The lights came on for me that day. I suddenly realized what my grandparents and great-grandparents knew all along. Fairy tales are an irreplaceable medium for character education. Fairy tales are a key that unlocks the child’s imagination allowing him or her to ruminate on how to live with dignity. Who can better teach a child that with freedom comes responsibility than the three little pigs or Goldilocks? The ugly duckling awakens ones empathy for others and teaches one to hope rather than despair. Little Red Riding Hood teaches us that one needs to have a healthy skepticism. Even dear old grandmothers can be deceiving. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Children have proven over and over again that they are capable of constructing their own learning through active and reflective thought. Take a fairy tale, plant it in their brains, ask a few “I wonder...” questions and wait. One fine day your seed will germinate, take roots and sprout. Your children will have a nugget of wisdom that they can carry with them for the rest of their days.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-83223704703400783182009-07-28T14:47:00.003-04:002009-07-28T20:20:31.674-04:00The Great Escape<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> She never made it past midday. Every afternoon her head would start to nod and eventually it would slump forward onto her desk. It was just a matter of minutes until she was purring contentedly with drool drizzling from the corner of her mouth. As a child I attended a one room school with five other girls and thirty-five rowdy boys. Amidst all the chaos that this unreeled energy could produce our teacher dozed on. I was too timid to join in the revelry while our teacher slept so each afternoon I reached into my desk, pulled out a novel and was soon swept to some far off land, engaged in some adventure that made the tumult around me pale in comparison.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Our school was sparsely equipped; a pull down map, a globe and the occasional math textbook with yellowed pages - certainly nothing as frivolous as a novel. So each Saturday our family would make the weekly pilgrimage to the nearest town, reverently ascend the steps and pass through the double doors into the hallowed halls of the public library. I would tiptoe quietly on the creaky pine floors in search of my next week’s stash of diversion while I breathed in the aroma that can only be found in place steeped with books. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> School was not the only place I abandoned myself to these books. In the evening the cows had to be milked, the pigs had to be slopped and lunches had to be made in preparation for the next day but when the chores were done our family huddled around the wood stove while our mother read to us. Soon we had lost all consciousness of life’s worries and were swept up in the perplexity of some fictional character’s life - characters like Heidi or Anne Shirley - characters who would give me hope that with courage and stamina I too could rise above the obstacles of life and emerge, a better person. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> A friend recently said that she had made a decision not to waste any more of her time on fiction. Could I do the same? I don’t think so. As I age the art of fiction continues to hold me in its grip and I continue to become more than I am as I play out my life through the characters and go places I might never otherwise see through the pages of a well-written book. </span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-58987285535922885452009-07-20T06:39:00.003-04:002009-07-20T06:51:30.237-04:00The Light<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: bold;">The shaft of sunlight struck through one of the windows, and I managed a bit of a smile as I watched it broaden, catching zillions of dust motes in its ray as it crept toward me and shrouded me in its warmth.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Excerpt from: "Kit's Law" by Donna Morrissey</span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />When the sunlight illuminates the dust motes in ones life, only a fool will pull the shade.</span><br /></div>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-38322070884162505372009-07-17T06:38:00.003-04:002009-07-17T07:02:17.426-04:00Things That Make Us Say "Hmm!"<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">“My teacher made me stupider.” I read it on a bumper sticker. Is it true? As teachers* do we contribute to our children's intelligence or are we making them stupider? Creativity is the ability to produce original thought. Is there any higher level of thinking than creativity? At what age does our creativity soar? When my son was three, he constantly questioned, he explored, he delved and he burst forth with original thoughts. Some of his thoughts were not original to the world but they were all original to him. Now my son is thirty. He is an intelligent man but he does not have the same thirst for learning that he had when he was three. Why? Do we naturally lose our thirst for learning and our creativity as we mature and make sense of the world or is that creativity squelched by well-meaning adults? When we say to a child, “Sit down. Shut up. Now unscrew the lid on your head and stay still while I pour from the pitcher of knowledge.” are we making the child smarter or stupider? To what degree should our children be coddled and organized by adults and to what degree should they be free to explore and discover? At what point does it become counterproductive to instruct and guide a child? How can one be a teacher or responsible parent without extinguishing the flame that glows within a small child? Under what conditions could my son have grown up to be more creative at thirty than he was at three? Comments, anyone!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">*Teachers = Anyone who instructs (i.e. parents, grandparents, school teachers )</span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4671516009494868049.post-15771868405375530092009-07-04T19:12:00.003-04:002009-07-04T19:25:53.729-04:00One More Reason To Be Thankful for Mugs<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I’m a grade one teacher and you know what that means. I have a cupboard chucked full of mugs. No gift giving occasion would be complete without at least one bright eyed six year old bounding into my classroom and thrusting a mug full of candy into my hand. I barely have time to express my delight before one of my cherubs pleads, “Can we all share the candy?” So, as a result, I’ve never actually tasted the candy but I have a wide selection of mugs. What does one do with all those mugs when one does not drink tea or coffee? Pencils, erasers, paper clips can be stored in mugs. Plants can grow in them. And when one decides to launch out and open her own dollar store, it’s comforting to know that there is a ready supply of mugs to stock the shelves. Today I discovered one more use for the versatile mug. When the chocolate monster comes knocking on your door you can satisfy its cravings with a mug and little else. Here’s how. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In the mug put:</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">4 Tablespoons flour</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">4 Tablespoons sugar</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">2 Tablespoons cocoa</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">1 Egg</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">2.5 Tablespoons milk</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">3 Tablespoons oil</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">1 teaspoons vanilla</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">pinch of salt</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> Stir it well and pop it into the microwave for three minutes on high and there you have it - chocolate cake straight from a mug. Tastes great and guaranteed to put a little fat on your bones. Who could ask for anything more?</span>Rhondahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10860645738335953116noreply@blogger.com0