Wednesday, May 27, 2009
When Isla launched her bowl of pears across the room, WHY did it have to land all over the wall, ceiling, couch, floor, vacuum cleaner, carpet, and table. SERIOUSLY! That was ridiculous.
WHY did Isla launch pears across the room today in the first place?
WHY do the ants return, even after I have killed the queen! (according to the ant trap box, which guarantees a dead queen within 24 hours and a dead ant population).
WHY can't John and Kate just suck it up and fight for their marriage?
WHY can't Kate get that big chunk of hair trimmed?
WHY do I have such a disdain for my own foot maintenance?
WHY is my husband so hot? (no complaints!)
WHY do I seriously have idea ADD?
WHY do people become obsessed with facebook applications?
WHY can't I ever be neighbors with this girl again?
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Almost 10 years ago...when umbros and tie die were in (Disclaimer: We were playing powder puff football)!
Just to clarify. This post is dedicated to my BFF on her birthday...well, 5 days late. People write Eulogies when loved ones pass, so I thought, why not write a "birthology" and say a little something about our special person's life while she is alive and can actually enjoy hearing how great she is! Happy Birthday Ang, thanks for being born.
I was born on October 15, 1980. Seven months and 3 days later, my non-biological twin entered the world 2 states away. Though this story possesses the qualities of a Lifetime movie, it is completely and entirely 100% true.
Almost 9 years ago in August of 1999, I was standing on the 3rd floor of Shupe Hall-room 314 to be exact. I was wearing a navy blue tank top from JC Pennys and a khaki pair of shorts (that laced up the front-hot). Angie Marie Mabry strolled into the room sporting a short pair of blue jean shorts, and yellow Tommy tank accompanied by one ridiculous high school boyfriend. We spent an enter day perfecting the arrangement of our room (mostly due to my OCD room organizing affliction where I need to see 45 ways to arrange a room before picking the perfect arrangement of furniture for optimal space maximization). We stayed up obscenely late our first night together, cutting out colored stars to tape around the perimeter of our room and swapping life stories…well, 18 years of life thus far. If it was not obvious from our matching pajama pants, staying up late tendencies, similar music taste, rice loving ways that we would be BFFs; it was blaringly obvious when we both overslept during freshman orientation and missed a mandatory freshman test. We never made up the test and still managed to graduate.
48 hours into freshman orientation, everyone instantly assumed we were childhood best friends, that we grew up on the same street, shared birthday parties, and graduated from the same high school. Jaws literally dropped, and eye brows rose when one of us casually said, “Oh no, we were randomly paired, we just met 48 hours ago.” Actually, that was not entirely true. We did meet over a phone call when I received the name “Angela Marie Mabry” on my roommate assignment slip in the mail. We shared a little small talk while I conducted secret evaluations, checking for brand recognition by throwing out names like “Abercrombie” and “Doc Martins” into the conversation. She passed the test.
96 hours into the college freshman experience, and we co hosted our first party-a snow cone party to be exact. It was BYOI of course, “Bring your own ice.” You might say they were the ultimate freshmen mingling parties. Together, we invested about $10.00 a piece into a sweet hand crank plastic snow cone machine. It broke ½ way through one of these parties when the ice cranking got a little crazy. We actually ran out to replace the machine on the spot. We refused to disappoint our fans. When you are building a legacy, no price is too great!
2 years through college and we decided, individually, to study abroad. One might assume that best friends would travel to the same location, and buy matching “I heart ____” shirts. Since neither one of us was the “follower” in the relationship, we chose 2 completely different locations- China and Jerusalem. I tried convincing Angie to follow me to China, and she tried to convince me to follow her to Jerusalem. Being independent adventures, we decided to go our own ways. We broadened our horizons, stretched open our world views, and experienced life through different eyes.
4 months later we boarded planes, and exchanged souvenirs back on common soil. We shared culture shock, Boone’s farm, the hookah, tears, laughs, memories and stories together about our adventures.
2 years later, we graduated college (2.5 years later for me). We stood in each other’s weddings as we married college roommates, we gave each other “toasts” and pointers on marriage and all that it entails…
5 months into MY marriage (a year for Ang), and we both caught “the pregnancy.” Actually, I caught it first, and then prayed for Angie to catch it. Thankfully God answered my prayer and 3000 miles apart, we both were “expecting”-one boy for her, one girl for me. Through months of food cravings, body changes, swollen ankles, moves across town and the country, and first time mom preparation, we kept each other appraised of the play by play.
9 months later (10 for Angie), we birthed some babies V-style and so together we embarked on a journey into the hood, motherhood to be exact. Instead of taking pictures together, we now took pictures of our miniature people together. Baby O and Baby A even shared a few photographed baths together for blackmail purposes of course. We were neighbors by no means, living 2.5 hours apart, but you never would have known. Our friendship has never been one affected by mileage.
9 months flew by and Angie was surprised with round 2, growing Baby E. Although I did not catch the pregnancy quite as quickly the second time around, I caught my own surprise 9 months after that. We each birthed another baby-2 girls total-Ella, and Isla. We kicked ass going old school all the way-o-natural. No Epidurals here, C-sections not welcome.
2 days into Ella’s sweet little existence and a storm rolled in. Ella had a cleft palette, which made eating extremely difficult and near impossible. A new baby on its own can be an overwhelming experience for a mom. Throw medical issues, and a toddler at home in the mix and you’ve got a recipe for a break down. There were no breakdowns. Moms are the toughest creatures on the planet. My heart ached for my best friend as I watched her take on the unknown, stand up for her baby, and deal with hardships I had not experienced in our non-biological twin existence. Angie taught me about courage, faith, hope, and what being an advocate for your child really means. She refused to be managed or handled. She spoke up when it was necessary, kicked ass if it came to it, and refused to let any terminology, and diagnosis define her sweet little Ella. (Read more about this amazing journey and more over at Angie’s blog)
Almost 2 years later, the lessons I learned from my best friend proved immeasurably valuable when I heard the word “autism” uttered in the same sentence as my daughter’s name. With an extremely high maintenance fussy baby at home and a toddler with developmental delays, I was on the verge of my own breakdown. Bu there were no breakdowns. As I said, before, moms are truly the toughest and most resourceful creatures. After my paralysis at hearing such words wore off, I refused to let fear, ignorance, and possible denial define my decisions and so I dove head first into searching for answers for Aislynn. We scheduled our autism diagnostic and prayed. In the meantime we started developmental therapy, speech therapy, play therapy, eating therapy, and nutrition. Angie and I both lived through days and weeks filled with therapy, appointments, and quests for answers. I don’t think we both ever dreamed we’d have to wear the hardcore mother advocate hat so much in such a short amount of time.
Months passed, and it was hard. We rode our individual emotional roller coasters in the grand amusement park of life. I wanted things to be different for the both of us, for both our little girls. It was undeniably challenging but there was something slightly comforting knowing that we both knew what it meant to have 3 therapy sessions plus, a week and issues the average mom did not face.
Time passed and miracles happened. Ella proved to be just as strong willed and sassy as her mom. They said she would be blind; they said she might not hear, they said she might have major life altering challenges and never meet milestones. But they were wrong. Ella sees, she hears, and she is conquering those milestones. She doesn’t swear, but if she did I think Ella would say “Take that bitches! Put that in your pipe and smoke it!” She recently turned 2 and has been through and conquered more than most people will in a life time. She’s been through hospital stays, surgeries, therapies, and tests, all with one amazing activist and mom at her side. I have no doubt in my mind that Ella will continue to defy the odds and show everyone up. I am honored and proud to say, “Hey see that girl over there…yeah, the rock star mom with the fire cracker for a daughter, she’s my best friend.”
In March, 2008 I heard the most amazing words, “Your daughter does NOT have autism. “ Twins are supposed to share everything, even non-biological ones, so why not share some miracles. It was as if I could breathe again after holding my breath for months. Those were the words I truly in my heart wanted to hear, and I prayed I would hear, and then I heard them. Aislynn continued to receive all her developmental therapies and made great progress. She still goes to speech and has some sensory issues with food, but we have done a 180 like I only dreamed was possible.
Today I can hardly be surprised that 2 sweet and spunky littler girls with us for moms should defy all odds. I know you might be questioning if this is start of a screen play for a Lifetime movie, rest assured it is not. I cannot promise however, that you won’t see this story in a book someday coauthored by the two of us! I don’t believe in coincidence. Random things don’t just happen, and Angie and I were not randomly paired for roommates almost 10 years ago. I know what you are thinking, “Wait a minute! You said at the start of this life synopsis you were randomly matched for roommates?” But I looked up the word random: “lacking any definite plan or purpose.” It IS true that no one in the Bethel admissions office knew what they were doing when they paired the two of us. They saw we both were left handed and liked to stay up late and thought, “Why not!” I told people for years that my best friend and I were “randomly” matched for college roommates. But that’s not true. From day one to day 3,650 our friendship has never been random. It has NEVER been “lacking any definite plan or purpose.” It is the opposite of random, full of purpose.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
- A little junk in the trunk...ok. Junk spilling out of your trunk-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Smoking 2 millimeters outside the entrance to the store I am trying to walk into with my small children-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Taking your snotty nosed, coughing kid to the park or the Barnes and Noble to mingle with the other kids and give them bear hugs-THAT IS A BAD IDEA (at least try to keep it a secret your kid is sick).
- Licking bubbles off the floor (Isla)-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Blue unitards for pregnant ladies-for anybody! THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- More than one patty of beef in a sandwich at any fast food establishment-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- The baby bjorn...for the most part-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- No deodorant-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Touching a pregnant woman's belly without permission-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Asking a woman if she is pregnant-even if she looks like she could give birth that minute-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Touching a little babie's hand who is not your baby in the line at the store-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Commenting on someone's weight gain-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Using the credit card checks your credit card company sends you in the mail-THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
- Not heading my advice on all of the above items. THAT IS A BAD IDEA.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
I have a small garden. By "small" I mean cherry tomatoes, herbs, a pepper plant, onions (which will probably die), and purple flowers (I have no idea what they are called-serious gardener as you can see). By "garden" I mean 4 pots containing such items. So I am not particularly a BIG gardener, but in my heart I am! After a trip to the Bloomington farmers market in April, I became inspired to plant...stuff. I chose the items that had the best chance of surviving with me as the gardener and a life in a pot. I actually do not care for tomatoes one bit. I love all byproducts of tomatoes, but the tomatoes themselves, in their natural state-no thanks. I just can't get past the texture, and don't even try to give me any sort of sauce with chunky tomatoes in it. Hmm...imagine I should have a child with "food sensory" texture issues...we'll tackle that one another day, or week or month...
Even though I do not like tomatoes, per say, I optimistically dreamed I might just like cherry tomatoes if I grew them myself (no real logic there). After watching my 3 little baby cherry tomato plants grow into teen vegetable plants, I felt fulfilled and excited to see them blossom into ladies-or little sassy tomatoes. Things were great, me happy, plants growing, until a tragedy occurred in the form of AF launching (might be exaggerating) a medicine ball at my beautiful plant.
AF does a new "medicine ball" workout on the deck. He found "the ultimate medicine ball workout" in Men's Health while waiting for a prescription one day. He is on his way to becoming quite chiseled. Basically, I will be washing our clothes on his abs come mid summer. It will do wonders for our electric bill. Anyway, he does a series of "moves." You know, big circles, wood chopper, squat to press, rocky solo, toe touch, 45 degree twist, suitcase crunch, diagonal crunch, standing Russian twist, etc. The "standing Russian twist," that is where all hell broke lose! According to the swore statement by AF, while twisting like a Russian (no this is not a slur I am simply going with the given exercise name as best I can) AF was swinging his arms so passionately for the love of this "move," that he launched the 8 LB. medicine ball directly at exhibit A: My cherry tomato plant. AF claims the ball "slipped" out of his hands while twisting, thus landing in my plant, thus severing one of the cherry tomato plants, thus ending its short blossomless, tomatoeless life.
This is what I found when I happened upon the crime scene (below)
Notice the victim on the far right
After seeing this horror, I confronted AF.
Me: "What happened to my tomato plant? Did something happen when you were outside?"
AF: "Oh, is something wrong? I might have accidentally dropped the medicine ball on it. I thought it was ok though."
Me: "What! Why? How?
That's enough, we don't need to relive this anymore. But seriously ladies and gentleman, does this plant look like a plant that is "OK?" No. If a wrecking ball fell on your head would you be OK! I rest my case.
I admit, I felt sad. Other than this devastating event, my garden has thrived-or at least stayed alive, for over a month. This is a huge achievement and the longest I have kept a plant alive. Yeah...probably don't want me caring for your plants while you are away, or AF and his medicine ball for that matter!
What is the point of this story? There really isn't one. I just thought it was sort of hilarious that my husband smashed my plant with a medicine ball, seriously random. I just thought I would draw this out as long as possible, seeing that I have successful completed this goal, I can probably give it a rest. In all seriousness, AF felt horrible. He asked what he could do to make it up to me, buy me another tomato plant? I said, "No, let's keep this out of court, I'll settle for 5 grand and backrubs for a year."
MY WEDNESDAY WHYS AT 12:01 AM SHARP.
Why is Walmart like a black hole?
Why do kids NEVER (maybe once a year) sleep in?
Why am I STILL, 2 weeks later, thinking about this (See Why #7).
Why would anyone mail order a husband? I mean a wife I can see, but a husband?
Why do Eggo waffles taste so good?
Why does it seem like I barely get past the starting line in my long list of "to dos" by the end of the day?
Why do I find mom blog swearing so hilarious?
Why does the individual who shall remain nameless (because I don't know his name) who has led worship the last 2 Sundays (luck us-totally sarcastic) refuse to leave any hymn verses out? I don't even think Jesus meant us to sing ALL the verses!
Why does Chris Harrison, the host of the Bachelor/Bachelorette ALWAYS have to announce when it is the last rose? Like everyone is not already staring at that last rose. I mean seriously, how many seasons are we down now? I think we get the freakin' rose ceremony by now.
I would like to take a brief moment to dedicate this last "WHY" to hubs. AF, wherever you are (actually you re laying in bed behind me asleep while I stay up to late typing about you), know that this "WHY" is for you.
Why did hubs have to demolish my cherry tomato plant with a medicine ball? **
**Due the strangeness of this "Why," I feel it is as necessary to explain this "Why" further. See the following post.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
For today's post I have chosen to focus on the "Biblike Necklace" for the first ever installment of "That is a bad idea Thursdays."Granted, the adult bib jewelery is not the worst trend I have ever seen, and definitely not even in the same league as the trends Lindsay uncovered. My only hope as that you stumble upon this post and heed my advice before succumbing to one of these “trends” in the name of high fashion.
For the sake of full disclosure I admit that I am in no way a fashion expert and own an obscene amount of yoga pants. I confess I wore a lace up black velvet body suit in the eighth grade and there is documentation in the form of photographs of me wearing the silk shirt vest combo in my youth. I admit I wore overalls in college too. Now that we have that out in the open I would like to share with you some of my findings.
My first source for fashion guidance, Glamour Magazine. Admittedly, there were a number of helpful "Dos" and "Donts" that Glamour had to share. I wish they had chosen not to share with us trends like the "biblike necklace" and "harlem pants" (MC Hammer anyone?) trends.
1. The "Biblike Necklace." First off, any trend that starts with the word "Bib" should probably be avoided unless you are a baby. Glamour tells us that "you may think you DON'T need this trend but you DO." I am telling you, you may think you DON'T need this trend and you are right. Apparently "one of these bad boys will make your trusty old t-shirt and jeans look like a million bucks," according to Glamour. I am here to tell you that if you wear a "biblike necklace" with your trusty t-shirt and jeans you will look stupid. You will not look like a million bucks, you will look like you are half way playing adult dress up. Please DON'T wear this trend with a t shirt to pick up your kids from school. DON'T wear this trend to the grocery store with your favor t either. People will stare and not in a good way. DON'T do this.
THE BIBLIKE NECKLACE (Some recommendations from the "experts")
For $238 this beauty is all yours. (Disclaimer: If you want to wear this large necklace with an outfit that is in the 0.2% of outfits it could actual look ok with, I won't complain. Good luck finding the outfits!)
I just want you to imagine sporting this bad boy in your "trusty casual t shirt" Now unimagine it. Enough said.
A beautiful LARGE coral colored coral looking bib. Only $750.00
Why not look like the coral reef is protruding from your neck? Super comfy I am sure.
A steal! Originally $429.00! Can be yours today for $299.00 I call this Cleopatra meets Mr T.
Go and tour an Egyptian Exhibit at the museum and feel right at home.
Hey, if you're into crystals, why not buy this bad boy for $350.00?
Think of all the energy you could be sending off? Superpowers!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I love this shirt.
It says, "CALIFORNIA" all in caps.
I feel like every summer I have a t-shirt that is THE shirt of the season. The shirt that eventually ends up faded, with a bleach spot, and stains from the normal everyday life of a mommy.
The shirt eventually makes its way to the bottom drawer of the dresser transforming into a "sleep shirt."
Why do I love THIS shirt?
- I discovered it on the sale rack at Old Navy. What's not to love about a sale?
- It was marked "$6.99" which was acceptable, but rang up at $4.99. I loved it even more.
- Its a bright and cheery orange. Perfect for summer.
I wore the shirt on Thursday to a playdate at my new friend Lilli's house. She originates from California and I think she appreciated the shout out. The shirt now makes me think of new friends.
I wore the shirt the next day. Yes, I wore the exact same outfit unwashed, 2 days in a row-no shame. I wore it to honor my dear friend who is moving to California in 17 days. I think she liked my tribute. The shirt now reminds me of her.
I knew this shirt would be special when I found it on the overflowing sale rack. I even tried to find one or two more so I could share the love. The combination of the jam packed clearance items I was attempting to rifle through, and my 3 year old wildly pushing a stuffed dog in a doll stroller in circles around the sale racks (that is a story for another day) prevented me acquiring additional shirts.
I wanted to find a shirt for Michele to take on her journey to California.
I wanted to find a shirt for Angie.
The shirt made me think of how she lived in California and loved it. I thought of her birthday next week, and how this shirt would make her smile because it will be a tough birthday for her without her grandma. I'll just have to find another way to make her smile.
Basically this IS the shirt of summer. Have you found your shirt yet?
MY WEDNESDAY WHYS AT 1:00AM:
Why does anyone send their gold through the mail to “Cash4Gold?" Please tell me I am not the only one who has pondered this after this tempting commercial offer. And when you do send in your gold that turns out to be worth $1.34, do they really spend more than that in postage to mail out your “earnings”?
Why do people spend precious time, energy, and money to make beautiful creations and then post these creations on Etsy in blurry, horrible photos?
Why don’t I just call my landlord so he will come out and fix the leaky pipe underneath my sink, instead of emptying the small pool that has gathered in my collection bucket to then replace it for another collection?
Why is coffee on my mind more than water?
Why do people like Adam Lambert on American Idol so much?
Why am I so judgmental?
Why can't I stop thinking about that package of boneless, skinless chicken I trimmed last week that had 2 feathers on it?
Why do I stay up so late?
If we are in the “same boat” as moms, Why don’t more moms know we are rowing together?
Friday, May 8, 2009
My alarm clock
I have not set an alarm clock for a few years now. Who needs to hear that annoying, startling, obnoxious beep or a strange song on the radio that somehow creeps into that dream you are having, when you can wake up to a little voice saying "OK mom, lets do snuggles and cuddles!" While it is super cute to have this face wake me up each morning with a cheery little greeting, I admit that many mornings I am wishing the greeting came at least an hour later.
This morning my 3 year old morning greeter chose a different approach. I started to wake up when I heard the familiar sound of a small set of feet creeping into my room. Instead of her usual proclamation of "snuggles and cuddles," I was met with, "Mommy, I have a surprise for you!" I slowly opened my eyes, curious and concerned at what "a surprise" might entail. There was that smiling, cheery little face with no pajama pants on and a naked butt, standing right next to my bed holding up a single square of toilette paper very proudly. She continued, "Its a little square! For you to wipe my bottom." Lucky me. I could see how proud my little morning person was of herself for taking off her pants, going to the bathroom, and delivering that amazing single square of toilette paper to my bedside. Even though wiping some one's butt is not my idea of the ideal "wake up call," I'll take it today.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I am thinking about rain today. This is the rain on my porch today.
In a reflection from Ginny Owen's about her song "Rain" she writes,
"...in order to experience a loss or walk with someone through their suffering, we must acknowledge and even accept the rain as part of the process.I don’t think that we’re meant to become completely comfortable with rain; if we did, we’d be too intense and melancholy to do anyone—including ourselves–any good. But experience has taught me that it is good to be familiar with rain—respectful of its reality and mindful of its necessity in our lives."
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
I like this. Press play.
Piles. LOTS of piles. A full weeks-plus of throw-up, diarrhea, fevers and sickness has put us a little behind schedule in the "keeping up on things" part of life. Before that it was strep (Happy Easter) and before that ear infections and fevers. So basically April was a blur. It actually sort of blurred together into one giant "sick day." And so the piles I began back in the beginning of April, the "we just moved" and the "unpacking" piles are still in their temporary homes, a month later. Only to be joined by piles of you name it-papers, laundry, items to distribute into other locations, items that need a home and have not yet been given one...etc. Why does it feel like the"we just moved and are still trying to get settled and unpacked" excuse seems to have an unofficial expiration date of 30 days? I feel like it should have a full year until expiration, so I have gone ahead and taken the liberty to renew it for 11 more months.
I have always been a piler. As a child, teen, young adult, college student, full adult-I have always had to pile everything on my bed to clean my room. Its just what I do. I pile everything on the bed, which becomes the mass distribution center. From there I usually form smaller piles on the floor until I am left with a few totally random and annoying items-you know the ones.
I always end up with a pile of papers and mail. I have a perfectly wonderful filing cabinet that is the eventual home of most of my "paper pile," but most of the organized items originate in the pile. I am not ashamed of this piling mentality. Its who I am. I am a piler. In college my roommate/bff and I regularly had a room filled with interesting and not so interesting piles. Random passerbyers often liked to comment on the "situation" especially around the dorm check time of the semester. They often shared blaringly obvious insights-"Wow, you have a lot to pick up..." You think? I will admit that many times the piles became a bit large, but we passed every single one of our dorm checks, unlike some of the neigh-sayers. Eat it dorm check trash talkers! Why? Because we knew how to clean...most of the time! I will admit we at times, had to take drastic measures and form piles in hidden locations to be dealt with later when time was of the essence. But for the most part, we are both excellent cleaners. We may not be the tidiest or most consistent cleaners, but we can clean circles around anyone...when we chose to, of course!
The thing about piles, is that you have to deal with them eventually. Sometimes things pile up, and I think that's ok. Piles happen. Its dealing with those heaps, and how you deal with them that's the important thing. There are certain piles you don't mind taking on. They are quick and easy, you know you can break them down fast...and then there are others that you are constantly putting at the bottom of the list because they feel huge, overwhelming, you get a headache just thinking about going through them. It doesn't matter how nicely you hide them or temporarily store them, because you know they are there. Until the pile is un-piled, it remains a pile.
I was thinking about what that means in my heart and mind. What do I have stored away, piled up that needs to dealt with? I can think of a few things. Sometimes its hard. Because sometimes when you start to go through a pile to sort things out, things get messier before they get better. The great thing is that we have access to the best professional organizer ever! He's even better than that guy on Oprah, Peter Walsh. I am always forgetting that He's (God, not Peter Walsh) pretty good at prioritizing, organizing, and dealing. Why is it so hard to really ask God to help us clean house, to sort through the piles, to deal with the mess?
I was listening to this Beth Moore videocast the other day, and the speaker was talking about hearing God's voice, and knowing His voice. She was comparing it to how it feels when that person in your life calls you and you just KNOW its them. By the ring, by the way they answer the phone. You just know. But you only know that, because you know them. You have spent time getting to know them, getting familiar with them and their voice.
I think I put God in this little box and then expected Him to do huge things on demand, and when its convenient for me. I don't even know what to say but that, but that.
"Jesus never reacted in anger to sinners who knew they were sinners. He confined his anger for sinners who thought they were somehow exempted from judgment because their particular vices were hidden in their religiosity. It's just not the case; neither is it for us. May we vigilantly guard our hearts! May we constantly come back to the Lord and ask him to wash us clean, make us pure, and make us wise. And may we never lose the simplicity of one heart pouring itself out in love onto its Beloved..." -excerpt from interview with worship leader/song writer Aaron Keyes
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Generic License.