<?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-27825581</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:05:27.171-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Memos to the Masses</title><subtitle type='html'>I'll be sure to send you another copy of that memo.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>125</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6850771783724170840</id><published>2012-02-11T16:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-11T17:19:09.224-06:00</updated><title type='text'>How did I get here?</title><content type='html'>These days I feel a bit like a teenager. The angst. Oh, the angst! I am easily angered, sometimes filled with inexplicable anxiety, and more rebellious than is characteristic of me. No, no, I'm not being self-destructive, don't worry. But I am less inclined to simply do what is expected of me. And why? For what?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I ask myself those questions every day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let me be perfectly clear. This process is not easy on me. I am not taking this lightly. But I maintain that all of it is okay. All of this is normal. I am not the first do undergo this process, I won't be the last, and I will be better for it in the end. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The emotional journey is telling, though. I can't even describe how much guilt I have these days. I feel guilty that I'm not going to church (and I get asked ALL THE TIME "where are you going to church these days?" And how do I answer? "I haven't settled anywhere just yet." Because it's easier than getting into everything.) I feel guilty for avoiding places where I might be put on the spot to pray or have overly spiritualized discussions, because I just can't handle it right now. And the guilt makes me angry. Why do I feel guilty? Why do I have to feel guilty? Why is my faith a list of rules that I have to follow?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;See? Teenager.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is a vulnerable place. There is great risk that I can easily take on views and beliefs of other people, simply because I'm in a state of confusion and I'm thirsty for answers. Thankfully, I'm quite well aware of this danger and therefore can take measures to protect myself. I'm doing a lot of reading these days, but I'm trying to make sure it's balanced. Both sides of the issue are being represented. I'm also limiting exposure to people who are entrenched on one side or the other, who may have too much influence on me as I try to figure out where I stand. The last thing I want to do is simply take on another dogma. I want to re-build my faith and have it be something that I own. Will it be influenced by others? Of course. I'm not so arrogant to think that I can answer all the questions that people have been asking for centuries. But I am determined to think for myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;More of us should probably do this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6850771783724170840?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6850771783724170840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6850771783724170840&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6850771783724170840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6850771783724170840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2012/02/how-did-i-get-here.html' title='How did I get here?'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7693496588284716400</id><published>2012-01-29T14:35:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-29T18:55:45.047-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Living in the Tension</title><content type='html'>So, two weeks into Living all by my Lonesome. Verdict? What the hell was I worried about. This. Is. Awesome. For real, I should have done this long ago. My house rocks (yes, even the purpley-grey on the walls). &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In my &lt;a href="http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2012/01/embrace-it-2012.html"&gt;Embrace It&lt;/a&gt; post, I alluded to the fact that I have been questioning aspects of my faith - a statement which has garnered some questions from family and friends. Fair enough. This is a public blog, so the purpose is for it to be read, and that is bound to include (possibly exclusively) my family and friends. Therefore, if I'm going to reveal some of what I'm working through, I should be ready to talk about it, in theory. Problem is, I have very few answers at this point and struggle to not just get defensive right away or else just downplay the situation to avoid having to provide answers I don't have. But the truth is, I'm living in the tension of being immersed in an extremely Christian context and questioning whether that Christianity is really something that I want to be associated with.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I've come to the conclusion that it's not actually my &lt;i&gt;faith &lt;/i&gt; that I am questioning - that being my belief in Jesus and my security in His love. Rather, it's my &lt;i&gt;theology&lt;/i&gt; that I'm essentially deconstructing, because over the past few years I've become increasingly uncomfortable with the dissonance between the intolerance shown by Christianity and the love that Jesus lived.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Simply put, it's not Jesus I have a problem with, it's the religion of Christianity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the church.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did I just say that? That's a risky admission, given the context of my profession and the family I belong to, but I'm determined to embrace this time in my life, this deconstructing of my theology, and that includes being honest about the fact that I'm a little bit angry at the church. I'm angry at its narrow-mindedness, at its habit of showing non-love to people who believe differently, at its destructive ability to profoundly hurt people who desperately need to know that they are loved and valued just as they are. On the grand scale of things, I have not been hurt by the church nearly as deeply as others; but that's not to say that I haven't been hurt. I'm a woman and churches tell me that it means I can't be a leader. And that hurts me. Which manifests itself by me being pissed off, quite frankly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's difficult for me right now to separate "Christianity" and "the church." "The church" is the living extension of "Christianity," and I see both doing a lot of harm in our world, all in the name of Jesus. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Does this mean I will never return to church? I don't think so. In fact, I think I'll probably return to it quite soon enough, but at the moment I'm taking a little breather (but, hey, at least I'm using my Sunday mornings to think about what my faith means to me, right?) I'm using this time to do some reading about theology and Jesus' ministry and progressive Christianity (which is sometimes really overwhelming for the conservative Christian girl that I was raised as). And when the tension gets too thick, I walk away for a little bit, just to give it a chance to ease off to a bearable level, and then I return. Because I'm embracing it, this tension. I don't think it's a bad thing to deconstruct what we believe every once in awhile. And that's what really tells me that I'm no longer that conservative Christian girl I once was -in my experience, conservative Christians are typically quite threatened by questions to the fundamentals of their theology (I certainly was).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm embracing it, people. Join me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7693496588284716400?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7693496588284716400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7693496588284716400&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7693496588284716400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7693496588284716400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2012/01/living-in-tension.html' title='Living in the Tension'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1413983656162388860</id><published>2012-01-14T21:57:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-14T22:04:40.019-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A house, a home</title><content type='html'>Embracing It wasn't easy this week. I melted down on Tuesday and was convinced I couldn't live with the purple on the walls...and there may have been a moment where I desperately wished that I could call this whole thing off. But an hour and a half chat/cry with my sister on the phone, a little bit of sleep and the support of my friends diverted the crisis and here I am. In my new house. In my home.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm on my couch, in my new living room, drinking a beer and eating celebratory chips, listening to the sounds of a new building, and relishing the fact that this place is all mine. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't wait to go to bed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1413983656162388860?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1413983656162388860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1413983656162388860&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1413983656162388860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1413983656162388860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2012/01/house-home.html' title='A house, a home'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1627761126668627633</id><published>2012-01-08T23:28:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-09T00:03:01.396-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Embrace It: 2012</title><content type='html'>My friend was telling me about his buddy who declares a motto each year. Last year was "Why Not?"; this year's is "Don't Die" (you know, the whole Mayan calendar/end of the world thing). I don't make New Year's Resolutions, because they are just one more thing to fail at, but the idea of a Motto for the Year intrigued me and I decided I could get on board with that. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While "Don't Die" is a good motto for everyone, mine sprang out of the flurry of change happening in my life at the moment. Change can be very hard for most people, especially me, so my anxiety level has been somewhere between "high" and "overdrive" for going on a month now. I'm moving into an apartment on my own next weekend and we've spent the last couple weeks getting the new place ready. This weekend was painting weekend and we were going for a really awesome shade of grey on the walls, which turns out is pretty purple in some (most?) lighting. The friend that was painting with me was just like "you know what? embrace the purple" (really, we were pretty committed at this point). So that's when my Motto for the Year struck me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Embrace It.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My walls are kinda purple (when that's the very color I said I &lt;i&gt;didn't &lt;/i&gt;want)? Embrace it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm a little terrified to live on my own? Embrace it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My new fridge makes gurgling noises that sound a little bit like an alien talking? Embrace it. (And name him "Alex")&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm questioning many aspects of my faith, theology, ideology and practice? Embrace it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You don't want to date me? Embrace it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pinterest has captured me in its obsessive grip? Embrace it. (AND PIN ALL THE THINGS!!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, no resolution for me. But I am going to Embrace It this year, as best I can. Which sometimes might not be very well at all. But...failing at Embrace It? Well, I'll probably embrace that too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1627761126668627633?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1627761126668627633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1627761126668627633&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1627761126668627633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1627761126668627633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2012/01/embrace-it-2012.html' title='Embrace It: 2012'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7629987298226791194</id><published>2011-12-03T14:49:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-12-03T15:37:46.132-06:00</updated><title type='text'>On connection, belonging and friendship</title><content type='html'>Lately I have realized (or perhaps re-realized) how lonely I am for significant relationships in my life. My decision to leave Winnipeg for Abbotsford has been overwhelmingly positive. And yet. And yet, I cannot deny the sacrifice I made in leaving my community there. I use the word community intentionally; I'm not speaking of the city or neighborhood I lived in, rather the community of people I belonged to. And belong is the  key word.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss belonging to a group of people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss the peace that comes with spending time with people you know want to spend time with you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am accepted, flaws and all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss never having to wonder if I will sit home alone on Friday night (unless I've chosen to do so).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss community. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My job came with an instant community, but I have an urge to call it "faux community." There are definite instances of true connections, true communities being formed, but in reality, work community is different from life community. I miss life community - literally, those people you just do life with.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A good friend of mine has this type of community and this has become his "church." It's not church in the same way we normally think of, but I cannot deny that this group of people is truly a church community. And I desperately want to be a part of it.  My eyes fill with tears and my heart fills with longing when I observe the community shared between these people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's shocking how the lack of belonging, and the subsequent longing that comes from observing others who have what you want, quickly throws you into a strange, scary and sad state of discomfort. Insecurities I thought I had long since dealt with have resurfaced with surprising force. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Am I cool enough to be friends with these people? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Do they really want to spend time with me or are they simply taking pity on me? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Am I pretty enough? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Am I skinny enough? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Am I smart enough? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Am I enough?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not used to being on the outside. I'm not used to worrying about finding acceptance from people anymore. I'm thrown back to early college days when I was so eager to find the "lifelong friends" that we are promised as a result of Bible School that I alienated people with my neediness. Am I still that needy? Have I really not changed in the past 10 years?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have, of course. I now understand that deep friendships take time. I understand that deep friendships have ups and downs,  but the downs aren't usually the end of the road. I understand that deep friendships create, and perhaps need, space for silence.I understand that deep friendship does not mean you have to agree on everything, rather that you are able to have honest, open conversations about life, love, faith, and everything in between.  Deep friendship is about walking through life together.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life without deep, significant friendships is hard. And lonely. It's where I am right now (although perhaps it's changing?). And while it's uncomfortable and painful at times,  I'm ok with it (for a short period of time), because it reminds me that I am real, that I am human, that there is meaning to the life I am living, that I have worth, that I have needs and that those needs are ok, and that there are probably others who are in this place too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7629987298226791194?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7629987298226791194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7629987298226791194&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7629987298226791194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7629987298226791194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/12/on-connection-belonging-and-friendship.html' title='On connection, belonging and friendship'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5917192222680279947</id><published>2011-11-17T01:28:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-11-17T01:36:35.659-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Reflections on another year gone</title><content type='html'>It is way past my bedtime. Seriously, I should be in bed and I will regret this tomorrow morning at 5 am when my alarm goes off and the gym makes me its slave for an hour. But it's my birthday and I'm 27 now which means I can do whatever I want.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Birthdays lose their excitement as the years pass. I'm not yet at the age of dreading birthdays (although that age is coming in t-minus 3 years...), but gone are the days of excited butterflies in anticipation also. I actually forgot a number of times this week that the big day was approaching. And the day itself was so insanely busy that I probably would have forgotten there was anything special about it if Facebook hadn't let me know every 30 seconds that someone else had wished me a Happy Birthday (seriously, there's nothing like a birthday to make a girl feel loved).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Overall, 26 was a good year. Adjusted to some major change in my life, and while it was a bit a of a battle at some points, I think I've done it fairly gracefully. I think I've mellowed even more over the past year, and grown remarkably in my ability to love and understand myself. I'm more willing to own my mistakes and my successes, more ready to admit my weaknesses and take credit for my strengths. I hope God has shaped me to be more compassionate, giving and graceful. Even more so, I hope to be able to repeat that last sentence in 365 days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a feeling that 27 is going to be a good year. There is hope and there is peace.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5917192222680279947?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5917192222680279947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5917192222680279947&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5917192222680279947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5917192222680279947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/11/reflections-on-another-year-gone.html' title='Reflections on another year gone'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8951923621683925466</id><published>2011-10-22T13:32:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-22T13:37:19.410-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Have a Laugh or Three</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;He he he...these are funny.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NXhY_IvW6JM/TqMMoIrYC4I/AAAAAAAAAKg/3AZDcWw2KIU/s320/24282_1255766748978_1073861966_30643322_1473157_n.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386639825931138" /&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UnKp-d3yeCE/TqMM5o1bS2I/AAAAAAAAALo/fba-6IQvkL4/s320/285145_1941829860127_1073861966_31742012_6054924_n.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 254px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386940515797858" /&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LerxOrZTIkw/TqMM2qAAQ4I/AAAAAAAAALc/RtAjgHF4Pto/s320/246844_1825947243134_1073861966_31639652_3290834_n.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386889288991618" /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ibBmVlUpkBk/TqMMzwo875I/AAAAAAAAALQ/4RQ-sb5MoAA/s320/73532_1489585914311_1073861966_31140451_6919075_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386839531745170" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 123px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B8lr2cQN8MA/TqMMxRzSIUI/AAAAAAAAALE/86oPF4HqxQQ/s320/33706_1463474941553_1073861966_31094828_8336380_n.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386796893839682" /&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v94kd-ql2rE/TqMMuJe6sUI/AAAAAAAAAK4/tOc_URpcAHM/s320/32453_1331734608127_1073861966_30790802_1502908_n.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386743121326402" /&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AN15vANCT3c/TqMMqyPyDnI/AAAAAAAAAKs/KeqD7JOCYww/s320/13449_1368942258295_1073861966_30882107_3723125_n.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 198px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666386685344222834" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8951923621683925466?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8951923621683925466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8951923621683925466&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8951923621683925466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8951923621683925466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/10/have-laugh-or-three.html' title='Have a Laugh or Three'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NXhY_IvW6JM/TqMMoIrYC4I/AAAAAAAAAKg/3AZDcWw2KIU/s72-c/24282_1255766748978_1073861966_30643322_1473157_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7110110081992844377</id><published>2011-09-07T21:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-07T21:10:20.050-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Let Me Tell You...</title><content type='html'>Let me tell you about some of the things that happened today....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...a student very kindly asked me how I was doing this morning and tears rushed to my eyes astonishingly quickly as I tried to explain that I was a little bit tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I found myself wondering if the student sitting across from me in my office could see that my eyes were completely glazed over and that I was really struggling to focus on what he was saying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...my phone rang this afternoon and I whispered "no" and it stopped ringing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I was in the middle of writing an email and I closed my eyes and they stayed that way longer than they should have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I knew I needed to leave when I reached the point where hearing one more student ask if I was in my office was going to bring me to tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two more days, friends. Two more days. Then I sleep. I'm tired. I'm happy, and thrilled to be doing what I'm doing, but I'm tired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7110110081992844377?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7110110081992844377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7110110081992844377&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7110110081992844377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7110110081992844377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/09/let-me-tell-you.html' title='Let Me Tell You...'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1183040400594290913</id><published>2011-08-06T13:16:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-06T13:52:12.615-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Help</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuSB6vLKfl0/Tj2LT2GzwMI/AAAAAAAAAJM/M4TH1fQ7ER4/s1600/41eKoQORnFL._SS500_.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuSB6vLKfl0/Tj2LT2GzwMI/AAAAAAAAAJM/M4TH1fQ7ER4/s320/41eKoQORnFL._SS500_.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637815481595576514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've just finished reading this book. It seems as though every other woman in North America is also reading it and now we're all waiting for the movie version to come out sometime next week. And I needed to write about it. Because it was a deeply impacting book for me, and I've been dumbfounded at others' reactions to it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A co-worker asked me the other day "Have you read The Help?" to which I replied that I was in the process, and she exclaimed, "It's so funny!" I think she meant "funny" not in a ha-ha kind of way, but more funny in a delightful way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A friend on Facebook posted on her status "reading The Help! So cute!" I stared at it a moment...."cute?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I found the book deeply disturbing. Were there humorous expressions in it? Certainly. Were there some cute stories within? Absolutely. I very much enjoyed reading it. But I would not use the words "funny" or "cute" to describe it. I would use words like....no, I don't even know what words to use. "Heartbreaking," maybe?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I should insert here that I really DID enjoy the book. I was proud of the courage of those characters, I did find their stories delightful at times, and did giggle at parts of it. I DID enjoy it and I want to see the movie, but...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The fact that our history includes the horrific belief in racial segregation breaks my heart. It does. That men and women, who share my skin colour, honestly believed that others with a darker shade of skin were "less than" and "dirty" and "diseased" and couldn't bear to share a bathroom or a dining table with them makes my heart ache. Who do we think we are?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is even more heartbreaking is that despite the fact that laws and many North American cultural views have drastically changed in the past 50 years, racial discrimination is still alive and very well in our country and our world. Who do we think we are, that the colour of our skin makes us above another? Who do we think we are?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What makes me even more angry is that this is still happening in our churches. No, not between races, at least not in my church. No, here the segregation, the unbalance, the inequality, is still caught up in our body parts. Because I have the body parts of a female, I am not allowed to take formal leadership roles in many MB churches in this area. Because I am a woman, I do not have the wisdom, or the leadership abilities, or the blessing of God to add my voice to church governance issues or to stand behind a pulpit and preach. Who do they think they are?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While most MB churches in Canada have come a long way on this issue over the past 20 years, it appears that the churches in BC are actually moving backwards on it. A prominent church in my area, the biggest MB church in the city, one of the largest in the BC conference, has just pulled all of their women off the leadership council. It's asinine and makes me feel ill. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Where does this come from, this proclivity towards inequality? It doesn't come from God, of that I am certain. God has not created some of his children as less important or less human than others, because of their skin colour or their anatomy. This does not come from God.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We should be ashamed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1183040400594290913?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1183040400594290913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1183040400594290913&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1183040400594290913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1183040400594290913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/08/help.html' title='The Help'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuSB6vLKfl0/Tj2LT2GzwMI/AAAAAAAAAJM/M4TH1fQ7ER4/s72-c/41eKoQORnFL._SS500_.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8655675072544115129</id><published>2011-07-09T01:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-07-09T01:36:00.671-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bathroom Stall Wisdom</title><content type='html'>You know how sometimes there is writing on the inside of public bathroom stalls, usually put there by super classy girls who want the world to know that L+B=Love 4ever? Tonight I was in a bathroom that had a fair amount of graffiti, and someone had written:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shut up&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;     +&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love yourself&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That struck me as profound. It kind of reminded me of that comedy sketch where the guy is a therapist, and his approach to counselling his patients was to yell at them to "STOP IT!" This bathroom stall message was somewhat like a verbal slap upside the head, "Shut up and just love yourself already."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Message received, super-classy-girl-who-writes-on-the-walls-of-public-bathroom-stalls. Thanks for being so obnoxiously, eloquently right. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8655675072544115129?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8655675072544115129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8655675072544115129&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8655675072544115129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8655675072544115129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/07/bathroom-stall-wisdom.html' title='Bathroom Stall Wisdom'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1922364090293060986</id><published>2011-06-25T22:57:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-25T23:46:03.778-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Pursuit</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I completed my first hike today. I don't think I've every really hiked before...at least not like this. Certainly not in my adult life. Guys, I'm pretty proud of myself, I can't even lie to you. I've lived in BC for 11 months now and have done very little to utilize the gorgeous playground we've got here. My goal was/still is to get into hiking this summer; fits in well with my overall goal of living a more active and healthy life. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The hike we did today was labelled "moderate," (which for me was quite a workout...starting with an easy hike didn't really occur to me) but was relatively short (3.4 km return). It took us about 50 minutes up and about 40 down. My dad asked me this evening "did you guys get wet?" (because the forecast was pretty rainy today) and my reply was "nope! At least not with anything that my body wasn't producing." We sweated good and hard. That's one of the best feelings, I think.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Going up was hard for me, I can't lie. I'm not in awesome shape yet, and I was the slow one in the group. It's frustrating because I don't like to be that one in the group that has to stop to breathe, but my friends were gracious and encouraging. I only contemplated stopping once and it wasn't very seriously. I was pretty determined to conquer that mountain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I did. What a feeling. I felt like I had accomplished something important for my self-esteem, my motivation, my sense of determination. I did it. And I want to do it again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WOVBII-R_tE/Tga4MZT0uhI/AAAAAAAAAI8/Zfqr2BVXqHg/s320/Spring.Summer%2B2011%2B018.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622383707910617618" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;This is what hard work looks like.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JlZ2yuhCZV8/Tga4a8zIDrI/AAAAAAAAAJE/2BrnrotaiNA/s320/Spring.Summer%2B2011%2B023.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622383957955317426" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And this is what victory looks like.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;You can all pat me on the back now :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1922364090293060986?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1922364090293060986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1922364090293060986&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1922364090293060986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1922364090293060986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/06/in-pursuit.html' title='In Pursuit'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WOVBII-R_tE/Tga4MZT0uhI/AAAAAAAAAI8/Zfqr2BVXqHg/s72-c/Spring.Summer%2B2011%2B018.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6016439858252543426</id><published>2011-06-12T10:59:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-12T11:06:50.059-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Simple Things</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, two things gave me immense joy, as I was babysitting the cutest kids in the world...my nieces and nephew.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. I was putting the girls down for a nap and as I put Morgan into her crib, she started crying and saying she wanted to "walk." I was somewhat confused and kept telling her, "no it's time to sleep, Morgs." She kept crying and wanting to "walk" so finally I said "fine, I'll let you out and you can walk around the room." She walks over to the rocking chair and looks up at me expectantly. The light bulb went off in my head, "Oh you want to &lt;i&gt;rock!&lt;/i&gt;" Now that I can do. So I sit down with her in the rocking chair, she lays her head on my chest and we rock. Life seriously does not get any better than that. Every time I said, "Ok Morgie, it's time to go to sleep now," she would reply, "I just want to walk a little bit..." I'm sure I "walked" with her much longer than her parents normally do...but Auntie Dana is pretty much mush for that little girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. As the girls were sleeping, I got to hang out with Caleb (who just turned 5...how did THAT happen?). He was laying on the couch with me and I kept poking him, and every time he would just giggle helplessly. If you haven't heard his giggle, you won't get why this gave me so much joy, but he's seriously got the best giggle ever. I'm grinning just thinking about it right now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Days like these remind me why I uprooted my life to be closer to my family.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6016439858252543426?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6016439858252543426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6016439858252543426&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6016439858252543426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6016439858252543426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/06/simple-things.html' title='Simple Things'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7389464651528908607</id><published>2011-05-04T23:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-04T23:20:33.769-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Love...</title><content type='html'>I love...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...seeing my nieces' and nephews' faces light up as I walk in the room and they launch themselves into my arms.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...the feel of new books in my hands.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...authors who can string words together like poetry (but not actual poetry).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...anything with a black and white pattern.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...meaningful conversations.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...the mountains and the prairies equally.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...Sunday afternoon naps.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...the point of a relationship where you're so comfortable together that you can sit side by side without needing to talk.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...a good cup of coffee.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...getting the giggles - the kind that you can't get under control and that usually hit at the most inappropriate times.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...driving down the highway on a sunny day, singing along to good music.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...finding new musicians to be obsessed with.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...knowing that I have been chosen by God.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;...sitcoms that make me laugh out loud.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7389464651528908607?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7389464651528908607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7389464651528908607&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7389464651528908607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7389464651528908607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-love_04.html' title='I Love...'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4836220699877022500</id><published>2011-05-02T12:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-02T12:56:59.122-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Which No One Wins</title><content type='html'>We can all remember where we were when news of 9/11 broke. Nearly 10 years later we have news that the mastermind of that attack was killed by a US covert operation. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There were news reports last night that celebrations took place outside the White House and at Ground Zero, that justice had been served. I can understand why people say this, "an eye for an eye" and all that. But my heart was heavy last night. Was justice really served by taking another life? Why do we think that we can serve justice at all in this situation?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Was God pleased yesterday that bin Laden had been killed? Forgive me, but no. I am not saying that any of what that man had done in his life was pleasing to God, but somehow I don't think that rejoicing over the murder of a human being is any more pleasing to Him. I think that God weeps over the state of His children; we are all so wicked and filled with evil. We kill each other and are hateful and vengeful. I think God weeps.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"...as surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:11&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't think justice was served; I don't think justice was able to be served in this situation, at least not by us. I don't think anyone wins here. And I think God weeps.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4836220699877022500?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4836220699877022500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4836220699877022500&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4836220699877022500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4836220699877022500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/05/in-which-no-one-wins.html' title='In Which No One Wins'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4943138967783098332</id><published>2011-04-29T19:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T19:04:28.685-05:00</updated><title type='text'>This is for Sam because he found my blog</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Today I was driving home from work and I passed a girl playing with one of these&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MxbgkcrYTjI/TbtR1g5aYDI/AAAAAAAAAIw/_k63M9SUm-E/s320/b000056bsv01lzzzzzzz.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601160541370998834" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;These were THE thing to have when I was in grade 2, which was *ahem* 20 years ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4943138967783098332?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4943138967783098332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4943138967783098332&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4943138967783098332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4943138967783098332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/04/this-is-for-sam-because-he-found-my.html' title='This is for Sam because he found my blog'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MxbgkcrYTjI/TbtR1g5aYDI/AAAAAAAAAIw/_k63M9SUm-E/s72-c/b000056bsv01lzzzzzzz.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6924740942643359868</id><published>2011-04-18T22:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-18T22:52:30.245-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Blue skies and sunshine</title><content type='html'>It's amazing how the world looks different when the sun is shining. Like, yes, in the literal sense of "hey! those trees are &lt;i&gt;actually&lt;/i&gt; green" and "wow! there's &lt;i&gt;mountains &lt;/i&gt;over yonder!" But also in every other sense too. Like, "hallelujah, God has remembered us here in the valley and has given us a &lt;i&gt;break&lt;/i&gt; from the gloom" and "hey! I'm not &lt;i&gt;actually&lt;/i&gt; depressed, my body has simply depleted its Vitamin D tank about &lt;i&gt;three months ago!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*I'm all about &lt;i&gt;le italics &lt;/i&gt;today. They are helping me &lt;i&gt;add emphasis to the point&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life's good, folks. School is wrapping up and this is the first year that I'm actually &lt;i&gt;sad &lt;/i&gt; about that. I'm not burned out this year! In fact, I find myself regretting the fact that I haven't gotten to know &lt;i&gt;more&lt;/i&gt; students! Do you hear the different tune I'm singing from the last two years??&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other news, I had dinner with the fam-jam tonight and my mom made these &lt;i&gt;hella &lt;/i&gt; good potatoes with bits of bacon on them and I was all "&lt;i&gt;Mom!&lt;/i&gt; These are &lt;i&gt;awesome! &lt;/i&gt;How do you make such awesomeness?!" And she proceeded to tell me that once you are done frying the bits of bacon, you &lt;i&gt;mix up a bunch of crap in the bacon fat and put it all over the potatoes&lt;/i&gt;. Guys, my stomach likes it &lt;i&gt;not&lt;/i&gt;. Bacon fat is so not meant to be eaten.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6924740942643359868?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6924740942643359868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6924740942643359868&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6924740942643359868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6924740942643359868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/04/blue-skies-and-sunshine.html' title='Blue skies and sunshine'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5502056607987934954</id><published>2011-04-09T19:13:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-09T19:25:16.357-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It is what it is</title><content type='html'>Not sure about any of you, but I don't like things to be beyond my control. I like things wrapped up in a neat little box, properly labelled and defined and put on a shelf; I always know where the box is and can easily identify it because of it's proper label. So when there are things that refuse to be boxed and labelled and shelved, I get mad. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've spent some time being mad this week. Maybe much time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So because I can do nothing else, I have put it into a damn box (so there!), labelled it "it is what it is" and put it high up on a shelf where it will hopefully get forgotten.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It just occurred to me that by "putting it on a shelf" I mean "putting it at the foot of the cross." An appropriate place for it, I think. The only place for it, I suppose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5502056607987934954?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5502056607987934954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5502056607987934954&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5502056607987934954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5502056607987934954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/04/it-is-what-it-is.html' title='It is what it is'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7022514087802100457</id><published>2011-02-17T00:38:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-17T00:39:21.538-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Say What?</title><content type='html'>Today I saw "spring bulbs" for sale at Superstore.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's February.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I frikkin' love this part of the country.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7022514087802100457?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7022514087802100457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7022514087802100457&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7022514087802100457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7022514087802100457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/02/say-what.html' title='Say What?'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1221984647745348103</id><published>2011-01-16T21:24:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2011-01-17T01:26:21.459-06:00</updated><title type='text'>To Be Known</title><content type='html'>There is joy in being a pastor's kid. I say that without sarcasm. To be sure, there are disadvantages, but there is also an upside.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I became a pastor's kid later than average - I was 15 when my dad took his first church - so I really didn't have the experience of growing up in a fish bowl as many other PKs do. My dad also put me (and I speak in terms of "me" rather than "we" or "us" because my siblings were both out of the house by the time Dad went into ministry) first, before church or conference responsibilities. I very clearly remember him looking me in the eye and saying, "if you don't want to do this, we won't" when our family was in the decision-making process of taking that first church. It meant moving to a different province and I desperately didn't want that. If I had been a more selfish teenager, we would have stayed where we were. The knowledge, though, that I was more important than the church was important.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've also been blessed with churches that haven't placed many demands on me as the pastor's daughter. I didn't feel judged or watched or held to a different standard. This was good because I had made it pretty clear that they wouldn't get much out of me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is, however, a certain level of celebrity when you're a pastor's kid and it gets worse when you're a grown-up pastor's kid. People are somewhat fascinated by us at my parent's newest church; they know details about us, but don't really &lt;i&gt;know&lt;/i&gt; us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The upside of this is that people know who I am there. Now that I am new in town and looking to make connections, it's been nice to walk into that church and have people talk to me. I can walk into and back out of other churches without anyone saying a word to me. So it's nice to walk into a church where people make an effort to make me feel welcome. It's nice to be known.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All that said, though, I miss my friends and my home church deeply - today more than any other I think...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1221984647745348103?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1221984647745348103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1221984647745348103&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1221984647745348103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1221984647745348103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/01/to-be-known.html' title='To Be Known'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4815866487345382844</id><published>2011-01-09T01:18:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-01-09T01:21:25.302-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Laugh til You Cry</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;**Make sure you pause the music player first&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cV6I1_o6vrY?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cV6I1_o6vrY?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4815866487345382844?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4815866487345382844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4815866487345382844&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4815866487345382844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4815866487345382844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2011/01/laugh-til-you-cry.html' title='Laugh til You Cry'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-813260821529783891</id><published>2010-11-20T03:42:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2010-11-20T11:08:59.601-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Haunted</title><content type='html'>I have stayed up half the night reading - something I haven't done in a very long time - and I can't sleep yet for fear that what I've read will manifest itself in my dreams. So I will write it down, even though the tears aren't yet dry on my cheeks, and hope that this keeps it from haunting me tonight.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This book was not easy to read and yet I couldn't force myself to put it down. I usually read before bed, but I found myself thinking about the story throughout the day. The story is "fictional," but is one of those stories that rocks you to the core because you know it is an echo of someone's reality - lived long ago, buried deep, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a novel that followed an 81 year old woman as she slowly - painfully - told her daughters the story of her survival through the Great Terror of the 1930s in Russia and World War II. Did you know that more than 1 million Russians died there? Murdered. 70% of them starved to death.  The horrors of mothers placing their children on evacuation trains, not knowing that the trains were heading into the heart of the German invasion. The horrors of mothers watching their children waste away from lack of food and knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it. The horrors.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are thousands of stories like the "fictional" one I just finished reading. My grandparents and great-grandparents had these stories, maybe not these exact stories, but versions of it from elsewhere in Europe during that awful time. I know they do because I have heard murmurs of the handicapped brother and son who was left behind all those years ago - a memory so locked away that I have heard mention of it only once and even then only after my grandparents had passed away. This history is also my history. That knowledge is heavy and so is the thankfulness that I was not the one who had to survive it; but the fact that someone DID survive it is why I am here today. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What an amazing, and terrible, &lt;i&gt;terrible&lt;/i&gt; book. The kind that makes you keep turning the pages, that changes you, but that you never want to pick up again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-813260821529783891?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/813260821529783891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=813260821529783891&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/813260821529783891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/813260821529783891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/11/haunted.html' title='Haunted'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4004514531169172276</id><published>2010-11-06T21:37:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T10:20:00.404-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Officially Official</title><content type='html'>Ok first I need to tell you a story. I was babysitting the kids tonight and Morgan(18 months old) was giving the cat, George (affectionately known as Georgie), some "love" to which the cat was responding with swats of the paws.  Morgan gets up to walk away and the cat reaches out, hooks his paws around her ankle and trips her. No lie. She picks herself up, turns around and goes, "Georgie! NO!" Darren and I laughed so hard. She was so affronted. The cat defs got the last laugh there. I wish I'd had a video camera.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I am officially a BC resident. This week I got my BC Care Card (medical coverage) in the mail, got all of my banking finalized and FINALLY got my car insured. It has been an unbelievable process. You see, insurance in BC is uber expensive (because everyone drives like &lt;i&gt;idiots&lt;/i&gt;), but you can get a 5% discount on it for each year you have been claims-free (up to 40%). You just have to be able to prove it to them. So I got a claims history letter from Manitoba, but because my car was insured under my dad's name for a few years, my letter only showed that I had 3.5 years of driving history. The result would be only a 15% discount and insurance premiums that were double what I paid in Manitoba. I wasn't ok with that. So, to make a long story short, I (and my dad...probably more my dad) did a bunch of calling around, eventually resorted to calling the MLA and we managed to get ICBC to agree to give me a full 40% discount if I provided a Driver's Abstract. So I FINALLY got that on Friday. The plates are on my car. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The relief is physical. I feel as though a weight has been lifted off me. I will randomly remember that everything is done and I get a little bubble of excitement in my tummy. It just feels so good to be finished the process. Hallelujah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also went and got a library card today. I was waiting for my driver's license to come so I could prove my local address. I am so excited to read again. I haven't really had time in the past 3 months and now I have access to a library and I have &lt;i&gt;4&lt;/i&gt; books to read in the next 3 weeks. Hallelujah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4004514531169172276?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4004514531169172276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4004514531169172276&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4004514531169172276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4004514531169172276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/11/officially-officially.html' title='Officially Official'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2060557004149805939</id><published>2010-10-12T18:09:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-12T18:15:00.695-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Living Life at a Very Fast Pace</title><content type='html'>Well, I keep thinking that life is going to slow down to a normal pace, but we're a ways away from that happening apparently. My sister's wedding is in T-minus 11 days, and then Ben comes to visit, so life may return to a manageable level on Nov 1.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss routine. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I volunteered at work to be one of the First Aid Attendants. If I had known the amount of work it took to become such, I may not have volunteered so cheerily. I was in a full time course all of last week, with monstrous amounts of homework/study in the evenings. Last week felt like a month. There were times when I couldn't even remember what city I was in (that tells me I'm not exactly adjusted to life in new province yet) and I totally forgot I even had a job elsewhere. That's how much brain space the course took up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;BUT I rocked both of my exams (written and practical) and now I am officially qualified to save lives. Or at least KEEP people alive until MORE qualified people arrive. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was the closest I'm going to get to living out my life-long dream of being a doctor and it was really fun:)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2060557004149805939?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2060557004149805939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2060557004149805939&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2060557004149805939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2060557004149805939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/10/living-life-at-very-fast-pace.html' title='Living Life at a Very Fast Pace'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6988223596086388984</id><published>2010-09-21T23:53:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-22T00:00:21.456-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahem...*tap tap tap*...is this thing on?</title><content type='html'>Ok, so I know. It's been awhile. But for real guys, it's been helllllllllllla busy at work, plus I've moved, &lt;i&gt;plus&lt;/i&gt; I have no internet at home, PLUS the internet at work sucks (not to mention the fact that I have no time to write a blog at work anyways).&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But here I am. Stealing Starbuck's WiFi, which they fully advertise as being free for everyone, but it still feels just a little like I'm pirating the internet waves cuz I've been nursing this vanilla latte for, like, 3 hours now and I'm not giving Starbucks any more of my money, but I'm going to keep on using their so-called "free for everyone" internet waves.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm really tired.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I'm alive. And I love my job. And even though US loans continues to &lt;i&gt;drive me to drink, &lt;/i&gt;and I can't seem to win the-battle-to-get-the-desk-slash-office-setup-that-I-want, I still like going to work. All in all, this move has = victory!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For real, even though I love stealing Starbuck's "free" wireless waves, I gotta go to bed. My butt is falling asleep - this chair is really hard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6988223596086388984?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6988223596086388984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6988223596086388984&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6988223596086388984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6988223596086388984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/09/ahemtap-tap-tapis-this-thing-on.html' title='Ahem...*tap tap tap*...is this thing on?'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1091036942806773800</id><published>2010-08-23T19:30:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T19:35:56.396-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Which I Bang My Head Against a Wall. Repeatedly.</title><content type='html'>I am considering taking up heavy drinking as an extra-curricular activity.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Guys, the US student loan system is &lt;i&gt;taking all my brain cells.&lt;/i&gt; Just when I think I've got it semi-figured out, I spend 40 minutes on the phone with them (over my lunch break I might add. TWICE now.) only to find out that I know shit-all about this system.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have never been so confused or defeated in all my life. That might not be totally true, but I DID almost cry today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1091036942806773800?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1091036942806773800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1091036942806773800&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1091036942806773800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1091036942806773800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/08/in-which-i-bang-my-head-against-wall.html' title='In Which I Bang My Head Against a Wall. Repeatedly.'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1359510721689728302</id><published>2010-07-29T18:09:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-29T18:27:13.997-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fear Cancels Faith, Faith Counters Fear</title><content type='html'>It would seem that I have some fear issues to work through. I've found that over the past few weeks my anxiety has been much higher than normal. That's not entirely surprising, given the major changes happening, but I was a little surprised at how high my level of fear got a couple times and the reasons behind it. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While I was still in Manitoba, I suddenly became very anxious when driving my car. "What if I get in an accident right before I leave for BC?" It doesn't help that I had just put major money into fixing my car for the long drive and I didn't want yet another expense, but I was genuinely concerned that something might happen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was a wreck on the back of Ben's motorbike. I don't love motorbikes in the first place, but if I'm going to be on one, I want Ben to be the driver. I know he would never let anything happen to me. But by the time we got to my house that night, I was shaking and nearly in tears. I had been so afraid the whole time that I was literally "steering" him unconsciously (making his job of keeping the bike upright a whole lot harder). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I worried about my dad driving to Manitoba to help me move. What if something happened to him on the way? My guilt would be overwhelming because he had been coming to help me. Driving back I did alright through the prairies, but in the back of my mind, the trek through the mountains was looming. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've done the trip from Alberta to BC dozens of times in my life. It's always made me a little nervous, but as a child, I just trusted my daddy behind the wheel and was fine. This was only the second time I've done the trip where I was one of the drivers and it filled me with intense anxiety. All I could envision was losing control of the vehicle and there being a fiery crash. I actually freaked out on the Coquihalla Highway and made my mom drive. My anxiety didn't even go down that much when she took over. I didn't calm down until we were safely home. And then I worried about my dad until he was safely home two days later.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know why I would think that God would call me out to start a new life in BC and then kill me on the way there, but my brain just kept thinking "sometimes God doesn't make any sense." When I made the decision to move here I consciously chose to not let fear rule my life and prevent me from making the move. I knew that if I didn't take this opportunity because I was afraid of the unknown, I would never get anywhere. But fear has definitely taken hold in other ways. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am frustrated that I trust God with certain areas of my life, but not others. I trust him to provide friends and joy here. But I don't trust him to keep my family safe. I have this screwed up idea that because I don't think I can handle losing a member of my family, he will make it happen just to prove to me that I can handle it. Where does that idea come from? I know it's flawed, but it's real, all the same.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to live ruled by fear. I want to trust the God who passionately loves me to provide for me and give me strength. He's proven himself so faithful to me and yet I doubt him. That makes me so sad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1359510721689728302?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1359510721689728302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1359510721689728302&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1359510721689728302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1359510721689728302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/07/fear-cancels-faith-faith-counters-fear.html' title='Fear Cancels Faith, Faith Counters Fear'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2056593873124581923</id><published>2010-07-16T15:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-16T15:18:52.747-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Brilliance</title><content type='html'>Look at me blogging away &lt;em&gt;consistently&lt;/em&gt;. I'm a machine (or, I have nothing better to do at work these days).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So a number of months ago, my dear friend Ben and I began teaching one another about our respective genders. We wrote long emails and explained things like High Maintenance Women (me) and Gearheads (him). These were invaluable, not to mention hilarious. In fact, I have just re-read some of them and I would venture so far as to say that they are brilliant. We should perhaps publish a book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, below is one that I wrote to him about things to never say to your girlfriend. There is a story behind this. Ben and I went camping last summer with my roommate and her then-boyfriend. We were planning to go tubing down the river the next day and on our way out to the campground we stopped at a burger shop for supper. As we were waiting in line I said, "Ooo poutine!" And Ben goes "you can't eat poutine! you'll sink your side of the tube!" He still hasn't lived that one down. So I decided to write him "The Top 10 Things NEVER to Say to Your Girlfriend." Enjoy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. "You complete me." - It worked for Jerry McGuire. It won't, and I repeat WON'T, work for you. You are guaranteed an eye roll. Saying nice things is always a good idea, just don't use another guy's line. And don't make it cheesy. Cheesy kills the mood and fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. "You don't really want kids, do you?" - For your information, I have a uterus and I intend to use it. If you aren't interested in having children, you can just move right along. A better question to ask would be "how many kids do you see yourself having?" Then she can answer zero if she doesn't intend to ever grow babies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. "I hope you brought money along, because I'm not paying for you" - we do not expect you to pay for us every time, but a line like this, where you outright refuse to ante up, brings you down big time in our books. A lethal mistake is not paying on the first date. Trust me. It's happened. He didn't get a second one (admittedly, there were other contributing factors, but it still sticks out in my mind).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. "What did you do to your hair?" - This immediately implies that you do not like whatever we may have done differently. Never imply that. If we've tried something different, we're probably feeling a little self-conscious about it and we don't need you confirming that it doesn't look good. That's what our girlfriends are for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. "Is that what you're planning to wear?" - Yes it is. Do you have a problem with that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. "Do you want to call my mom for that recipe?" - Ohhhhh boy. Shut up and eat what I made you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. "You didn't tell me you had a hot sister." - Sorry that must have slipped my mind while I was busy worrying about whether or not you find ME hot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. "Are you sure you should be eating that?" - Yes I'm sure I should be eating this. Even if I've told you I've given it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Accidently call me by your ex-girlfriend's name - do I really need to explain this? This is one slip-up you should avoid at all costs. Because I won't forget for a long, LONG time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. "Is it that time of the month?" - Even if it is, perhaps ESPECIALLY if it is, you do not want to know what is coming to you. PMS certainly may contribute to how we act once in awhile, but unless I offer that information to you as a sort of explanation for my irrationality, you should not inquire about it. Trust me, you REALLY don't want to know about that whole business. Plus, by asking about it, you've probably just made me cry. Ass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2056593873124581923?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2056593873124581923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2056593873124581923&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2056593873124581923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2056593873124581923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/07/brilliance.html' title='Brilliance'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1440989239508874584</id><published>2010-07-15T15:17:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T17:22:52.589-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Perspective</title><content type='html'>There's nothing like a farewell event in your honour to make you feel appreciated. I had my "mugging" today at work - given its strange name for the practice of giving the departing employee a pottery mug that bears their name, as well as the institutional logo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have often felt inadequate in this job. It quickly became apparent to me when I began that this job required an awful lot of extroversion. Turns out, I'm predominantly introverted.  My administrative gifts were definitely well-used here and I quickly found my niche in the disability service area and took a lot of pride in what I was able to drive here. But there was always that nagging sense that I wasn't doing a very good job in the biggest part of my job, the commuter program.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Standing in a room today and having the Dean of Social Sciences stand up to thank me, on behalf of the faculty, for my work with students with disabilities was pretty remarkable. So also was the heartfelt thanks of our Vice President of Finance for my work with the student employment program. He's a tough cookie who questions everything and intimidated the hell out of me for the past 2 years, so to hear him say "I had such confidence in giving you responsibility for this program because I knew you got it and you were taking the program in the direction it needed to go" was....I don't even know the word for it. I was humbled and grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It puts into perspective for me that I was very capable in this position, and maybe I even excelled at it. Not everything fit my strengths very well, but the areas that I invested it, I invested in passionately. My strengths outweighed my weaknesses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so grateful for the opportunity to grow over the past 2 years. I know so much more about myself, my strengths and weaknesses, and I can say that I have loved working here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1440989239508874584?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1440989239508874584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1440989239508874584&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1440989239508874584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1440989239508874584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/07/perspective.html' title='Perspective'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6586658165876782862</id><published>2010-07-13T09:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-13T10:03:03.570-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Swing Low</title><content type='html'>It's starting to sink in. I'm really leaving. And soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went camping with my friends over the weekend. I was sitting beside a very dear friend, both of us reading our own books, when I was suddenly overcome with a sense of "&lt;em&gt;gosh, I'm going to miss her." &lt;/em&gt;So we had a little cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also really tough when I start getting glimpses of how deeply this is affecting some people really close to me. Especially when it's a boy. Rip my heart out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight is my goodbye party (I like to think of it as a "See ya later" party). Honestly, I'm dreading it. It will be wonderful to have all of my dearest friends in one place, but kind of a crappy reason for them all to be there. I know that tonight will invoke feelings of "&lt;em&gt;what the hell am I doing? why am I leaving these amazing people?"&lt;/em&gt; I dread that. I know that this was the right decision and that God is clearly leading me down this path, but it's so damn hard to say goodbye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6586658165876782862?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6586658165876782862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6586658165876782862&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6586658165876782862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6586658165876782862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/07/swing-low.html' title='Swing Low'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4191962855903876655</id><published>2010-07-05T11:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T11:50:27.748-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Passing the Time</title><content type='html'>I'm finding it hard to be patient. I remember feeling like this when my parents and I were moving to Manitoba from Alberta - "ok, we've made the decision, let's just go already." I don't like prolonging the goodbye. It's not that I'm eager to leave my friends here, but I am eager to start my new life. Also, I hate living among boxes and that is currently the state of my bedroom - stacks of boxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got a little under 3 weeks to go before the move. I'm trying hard to enjoy every last moment I have here and I am honestly cherishing every last memory I am making. But I'm getting tired of being asked, "so how are you feeling?" I'm feeling impatient, people. My standard answer of "well, I'm excited about the opportunities out there, but of course I'm sad to be leaving my life here" is getting old, even to my ears. It's still true, I am "sad" to be leaving my life here, but I'm not &lt;em&gt;feeling&lt;/em&gt; sad at the moment. I know I will later when I'm hugging my friends goodbye and in a month when I can't just drive to their house to hang out, but right now, I'm just plain impatient.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4191962855903876655?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4191962855903876655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4191962855903876655&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4191962855903876655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4191962855903876655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/07/passing-time.html' title='Passing the Time'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-424469606806681097</id><published>2010-06-28T08:58:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T09:28:41.290-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Change is Inevitable (except from a vending machine)</title><content type='html'>Big changes are adrift, people. I'm moving. &lt;strong&gt;I &lt;/strong&gt;am moving. I am &lt;strong&gt;moving&lt;/strong&gt;. I, the one who loathes change, have set in motion a giganto-normous change in my life. I am &lt;em&gt;le-scared&lt;/em&gt;, if you will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The past 6 or 8 months have been hard being so far away from my family. My parents moved to BC about a year and a half ago and that's also where my brother and his family are. My sister is in Alberta and I have zero family here in Manitoba. That's hard, especially when you value family like I do. I began to realize that I would never get to know my neices and nephew and play a real role in their lives if I didn't live closer. I also realized that life is short and you never know how much time you'll have left with the people you love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I took a deep breath and started keeping an eye out for jobs. I wasn't overly hopeful that I would find anything - the job market in BC is not great right now - but I wanted to keep an eye out at the Christian institutions there, just in case. I was on Facebook one day and I noticed that a woman who worked at my former Bible school was pregnant with twins and it flashed into my mind that her job would be coming open, even if it was just for a mat leave. I started praying then and there - I knew her job (Financial Aid Officer) would be a perfect fit for me and I &lt;em&gt;wanted&lt;/em&gt; it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward 3 ish months: after much waiting and uncertainty (along with emotional ups and downs as I tried to fathom actually leaving my life in Winnipeg), I accepted the job and solidified the decision to move west.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It feels like a gigantic leap of faith. It was literally the hardest decision I've made since choosing to break up with Justin. Both were equally hard decisions (although it remains to be seen if the road &lt;em&gt;after&lt;/em&gt; is as hard...I don't think it will be...hopefully). There wasn't necessarily a "win-win" option in this case. On the one hand I would get to be closer to my family and I would get to be in BC, which I &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt;. On the other hand, I would get to keep my friends, who are so dear to me and such a blessing in my life, and stay involved in a church that has nurtured me. It seemed like an impossible decision for a long time. No matter what road I chose, it was going to be hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But God really put this job in my lap. They weren't interviewing anyone else but me. It was clear about 10 minutes into the interview that they were planning on offering me the job. It appeared that it was mine to lose. And God gave me peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I am faced with packing up my life here (which I haven't been able to bring myself to actually start) and saying goodbye. I am filled with excitement and fear and it depends on what day you catch me on as to which wins out. I am not afraid of the job because it is so perfect for my strengths. I am not afraid of having no one because my family is there. But I am afraid of having to start over in building friendships. I am afraid of having to find another church and working to make it home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what life there will look like, but I do know this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Trust" is not knowing the outcome but believing that, because God is sovereign, the outcome will be inherently &lt;em&gt;good.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-424469606806681097?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/424469606806681097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=424469606806681097&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/424469606806681097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/424469606806681097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/06/change-is-inevitable-except-from.html' title='Change is Inevitable (except from a vending machine)'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4091826811237094128</id><published>2010-06-17T15:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T15:56:12.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Facelift</title><content type='html'>I think I change my blog's background more often than I actually write on it. That's...interesting. But this latest one is really pretty! I think I'll keep it for awhile. Although I liked the last one, it was a little bit loud for me. I'm not loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's &lt;em&gt;pouring&lt;/em&gt; outside right now. We just might float away. I may need my paddle to get home. Oh wait...I don't have one because I am terrified of canoes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4091826811237094128?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4091826811237094128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4091826811237094128&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4091826811237094128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4091826811237094128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/06/facelift.html' title='Facelift'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1347229239196781207</id><published>2010-03-18T11:27:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T11:36:27.523-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories from my Childhood III</title><content type='html'>I'm going to guess that I was around 10 or 11 when this one happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We came home from church one Sunday morning and as we climbed out of the van my dad asked if someone could go to the barn to get WD40, which he needed for the toaster (WTH do you use WD40 on a toaster for? it should have been our first clue). My sister and I refused because we were wearing dresses, so my brother grudgingly went. A minute later he came running out of the barn screaming (like a little girl, might I add) that there was a dirtbike in the barn. We all ran in, my parents grinning at our delight, and sure enough, there, in the middle of the barn, was a gorgeous, red Kawasaki 80. It was the best dirtbike we'd ever seen and we spent hours ripping around on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that I would come home from church ever Sunday and hope that my dad would send me to the barn for something and I would find my dream horse waiting for me inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That never happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story, kids? Don't sit around waiting for your parents to buy you a horse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(But still enjoy the dirtbike they got you instead)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1347229239196781207?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1347229239196781207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1347229239196781207&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1347229239196781207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1347229239196781207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/03/stories-of-my-childhood-iii.html' title='Stories from my Childhood III'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-324305920785309238</id><published>2010-03-07T20:47:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T20:50:28.821-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories from my Childhood II</title><content type='html'>Again, I have no idea how old I was when this happened, nor do I remember &lt;em&gt;how&lt;/em&gt; this happened. I was definitely old enough and smart enough to know better. Alas, I am the youngest and was at the mercy of an older brother and sister. Sadistic buggers, they were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They managed to get me outside without any clothes on and then locked me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-324305920785309238?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/324305920785309238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=324305920785309238&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/324305920785309238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/324305920785309238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/03/stories-from-my-childhood-ii.html' title='Stories from my Childhood II'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8957560854748635797</id><published>2010-02-27T18:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-27T19:01:07.275-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories From My Childhood I</title><content type='html'>We were driving through the mountains on our way to BC, probably for Christmas or something; I don't entirely remember. These were in the days of our old Ford mini van, the one whose bench seats folded &lt;em&gt;backwards&lt;/em&gt; and formed a bed, except there was one end that was shorter than the rest of the bed because the one bench wasn't as long as the back one. I always got that short end because I'm the youngest (even though I've always been the tallest), but that's beside the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know exactly how old I was at the time, my best guess is around 7 or 8, but then again, who knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly there was a loud &lt;em&gt;pop!&lt;/em&gt; and my parent's looked at each other with concern. My dad looked in the rearview mirror at us kids and said, "I think I just popped a tire! Did you kids hear that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all agreed that we had heard it, our heartrates increasing because things were about to get interesting on a long and normally boring drive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom piped in, "I think the van is lop-sided! Do you feel it? I really think it is on the passenger side!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember starting to feel scared, because there are &lt;em&gt;cliffs&lt;/em&gt; when you are driving through the mountains and this was during my "I'm terrified of driving to BC because I am certain we are going to plummet off the side of the mountain" phase. I didn't totally know what a blown tire meant, but I could pretty much assume that it probably wasn't a good thing and certainly not on the side of a mountain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I definitely think the the van is lopsided, guys! I can totally feel it on my side!" This was me, starting to get a little hysterical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when Mom, shaking with laughter, held up the paper bag she had popped minutes earlier to simulate the sound of a blown tire. I never knew my  parents as pranksters until that moment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8957560854748635797?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8957560854748635797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8957560854748635797&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8957560854748635797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8957560854748635797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/02/stories-from-my-childhood-i.html' title='Stories From My Childhood I'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3139105700201643693</id><published>2010-02-24T16:07:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T16:30:08.270-06:00</updated><title type='text'>MDS Top 10</title><content type='html'>Last week I took a group of students to Dulzura, CA to work with Mennonite Disaster Service. Wild fires in 2007 destroyed 311 homes and MDS has been working at rebuilding just a handful (but a very important handful) of them. While it's exhausting to always be the one in charge, it was a great trip. We did a lot of good work and had lots of laughs. Here are my top 10 favourite moments from this year's trip:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The first thing I saw when I stepped off the plane in San Diego was a woman who had been botox-ed to high heaven. I barely contained my audible gasp and thought to myself, "Welcome to California!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I fell a little bit in love with an Old Order Mennonite man named Merlyn. Like, not seriously in love, but just a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Enterprise screwed up our reservation (not my favourite moment) and we ended up having two vehicles for the first day, a 12-passenger van and a small car. My buddy Dave and I ended up driving the car out to Dulzura. We had a hot date in the red HHR. (Not really, but that's what we say).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. On Tuesday night we drove to the Mexican border (10 miles away) and walked across into a town called Tecate. We had a blast wandering around this little town, trying to overcome the language barrier and we ate the best Mexican food I've ever had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Our server at the Mexican restaurant was precious and I wanted to take her home with me in my pocket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I got to use power tools. Lots and lots of power tools.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I got to drive a Bobcat. Pretty much the coolest I've ever been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. I got to hold a baby goat and he was precious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. I got to spend some quality time getting to know my cousin's girlfriend and I love her. I know they're young and relatively new in this relationship, but selfishly I hope she becomes part of our family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Every evening we gave reports about what went on during the day and during his report on  lying under the house installing insulation all day, one of the students said, "That's the most fun I've ever had on my back." We all lost it and I was wiping tears for a solid 20 minutes. Best moment of the trip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3139105700201643693?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3139105700201643693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3139105700201643693&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3139105700201643693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3139105700201643693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/02/mds-top-10.html' title='MDS Top 10'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-426084815555745826</id><published>2010-01-13T10:30:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-13T10:32:28.637-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dream Weaver</title><content type='html'>My dreams are wacked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamt that my sister got engaged (while not imminent, this is not out of the realm of possibility). But then I dreamt that I (and a furry little friend that looked suspiciously like Sid the Sloth) were at war with an elephant and a monkey in my old house in Coaldale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WTF?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-426084815555745826?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/426084815555745826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=426084815555745826&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/426084815555745826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/426084815555745826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/01/dream-weaver.html' title='Dream Weaver'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-9204922566183729111</id><published>2010-01-04T14:35:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-04T14:37:36.297-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Blonde Moment of the Day</title><content type='html'>I had a brilliant idea today to prank my co-worker, Ron. He's an Oilers fan. I'm a Flames fan. I was about to throw away my 2009 Flames calendar when I decided that a better use for it would be to plaster it all over Ron's office! And so I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I also left behind my tape dispenser that has "Dana" written across it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, yes, I'm a rock star.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-9204922566183729111?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/9204922566183729111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=9204922566183729111&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/9204922566183729111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/9204922566183729111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2010/01/blonde-moment-of-day.html' title='Blonde Moment of the Day'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2664891100904903986</id><published>2009-12-31T18:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-31T18:57:34.218-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Winds of Change</title><content type='html'>There's nothing like the holiday season to bring you face to face with all that is changing around you. If you're like me and don't always do well with change, this can be somewhat of a tough time of year. But sometimes it's good to sit down and reflect on the things that are different, acknowledge and accept them and then keep on trucking forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Christmas because it's one of the only times in the year that my family gets to all be together. Every year for the past few we've had another wee child running around the house and that kind of change is fun. This year we had another guest (bigger than a wee child) and although I was somewhat reluctant to share our family time with him initially, it was natural and relaxing to have him there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when we are all together like that it reminds me that we are all getting older. Adult children have middle aged parents and I fear my parents getting older. Granted, they are still very young, but I wish I could stop time and keep them that way. I still need them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's interesting to look back 5 years and see what a different person I've become. Most of the changes are great, but I have to stop and mourn some of the lost naivete and idealism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And looking forward to the future I anticipate some of the changes to come and dread others. But I cherish the things that remain the same: my dearest friends, my family and my faith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy New Year, friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2664891100904903986?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2664891100904903986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2664891100904903986&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2664891100904903986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2664891100904903986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/12/winds-of-change.html' title='Winds of Change'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-349291355761698032</id><published>2009-12-18T11:43:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T11:46:24.528-06:00</updated><title type='text'>High Maintenance Blog</title><content type='html'>My blog is high maintenance. Well, maybe it's me that's high maintenance. But my blog always has to look nice. It's pretty much one of the best parts of having a blog actually, choosing a new background. I love looking through websites and finding some that makes my heart go '&lt;em&gt;yes!"&lt;/em&gt; It seems that the background I choose reflects how I'm feeling at the moment. My previous backgroung was very bright and bubbly! This one is more subdued. Calm and classy. And that's how I'm feeling these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish it didn't say Merry Christmas down the side so I could keep it forever and ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-349291355761698032?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/349291355761698032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=349291355761698032&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/349291355761698032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/349291355761698032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/12/high-maintenance-blog.html' title='High Maintenance Blog'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4106442472614131364</id><published>2009-12-05T14:23:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-05T18:05:10.553-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Joey's? Yes, please!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;It was Roommate Christmas 2009 this weekend. We get all dressed up, go out for dinner and then go see the Living Christmas Tree production at a local church before heading home to open gifts. It is a fantastic tradition that we all dearly love. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This year we decided to go to Joey's for dinner. It's a rather new restaurant in our area and is a bit fancier and since we were getting dressed up in our little black dresses we figured it would be a good choice. I like to look at the nutritional info online before I go to a restaurant so that I can make better choices about what I eat. So last week I went to Joey's website and while they didn't have the nutritional info there, it said to email an address if you wanted the info. So I did. And very shortly (20 minutes later, I'd say) I received a personal email back from their culinary manager apologizing, saying they were doing some work on the website but the nutrition should be up by the next day. In the meantime he was willing to send me the nutrition on any items I wanted. Impressed, I responded saying that it wasn't urgent and I would just check back later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A week later I went back to the website to check and it still wasn't up, so I emailed the same address again, this time requesting nutritional info for a few dishes. Again, very promptly the culinary manager emailed me back a personal email with the details. I told him that even if I didn't like Joey's food (although I was sure I would) I would always be supremely impressed with their service.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So we arrived there on Friday night and the hostess started chatting with us about why we were all dressed up. We told her it was Roommate Christmas and she got all excited because she was going to have a chance to get all dressed up the next night and we had inspired her. Then our server, Kevin, came to take our drink order. He also commented on how dressy we were and joked with us throughout the night about many things. He was quite delightful (and uber cute). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We had planned that we wanted to get a picture of us at the restaurant and, joking, I said to the girls that I thought we needed a picture with Kevin. When he came back to the table after we had paid, we asked him to take our photo and he said "only if I get to get in on the action!" How could we refuse?! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;As we got up to leave a manager came over to us and said "Ladies, we loved having you in our restaurant tonight. You made Kevin's weekend, you made my night. What you represent is exactly what we want this place to be about. I know you're in a hurry but we would really like to offer you dessert on us sometime, so here is my card, give me a call next time before you come in and we'll hook you up." We were all blown away. He was genuine and sincere, this wasn't a sleezy attempt to suck up to us. We hadn't done anything spectacular (except look awesome!) but they loved us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am beyond impressed with this restaurant's culture of customer care. The food was great, by the way. But beyond that they really took care of us and that is really refreshing in our world today. Kudos, Joey's. Kudos. Also, Kevin is my new BFF. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411906799258496322" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/Sxr0j3dS7UI/AAAAAAAAAHY/lqdbw5S8o4Y/s320/New+Image2.JPG" /&gt;                                                       Alicia, Barbara, Errin, me, Kevin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4106442472614131364?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4106442472614131364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4106442472614131364&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4106442472614131364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4106442472614131364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/12/joeys-yes-please.html' title='Joey&apos;s? Yes, please!'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/Sxr0j3dS7UI/AAAAAAAAAHY/lqdbw5S8o4Y/s72-c/New+Image2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2523992781265225745</id><published>2009-12-02T18:07:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-02T18:11:09.315-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I didn't know it was possible to love them this much</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SxcCBmoFi0I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/DCGr77ltcZ8/s1600-h/DarrenandJudi09-3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 211px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410795703880747842" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SxcCBmoFi0I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/DCGr77ltcZ8/s320/DarrenandJudi09-3.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just thinking about them makes me grin and my heart melt into a little puddles. They make my heart come alive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2523992781265225745?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2523992781265225745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2523992781265225745&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2523992781265225745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2523992781265225745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-didnt-know-it-was-possible-to-love.html' title='I didn&apos;t know it was possible to love them this much'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SxcCBmoFi0I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/DCGr77ltcZ8/s72-c/DarrenandJudi09-3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7552541903150246184</id><published>2009-11-17T12:16:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T12:31:34.003-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Quarter Life Crisis</title><content type='html'>So I turned 25 yesterday. I have always really loved having birthdays; for someone who is usually quite content to stay out of the spotlight, I love being the special one for a day. I also love turning a year older. I have always had a habit of not really saying my true age. Like when I'm asked how old I am, I will usually say something like "turning 24 this year" or whatever age is appropriate. I don't know why. I think it's a combination of things. I'm the youngest child and have always wanted to be seen as equal to my older siblings instead of the little sister, so I always wanted to be older than I was. Also my birthday is late in the year so I am usually the youngest out of all my friends. Again, wanting to be equal to everyone else. Wow, does anyone else sense this underlying self-conciousness about being the youngest? Good goodness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, all that to say, I've been eyeing my looming 25th birthday with some trepidation. I don't know what I expected life to look like at 25. I do remember saying that I wanted to be done having kids by 25 because I had heard somewhere that that lowers your chance of uterine cancer or something (seriously, what 10 year old thinks of these things?! Me, apparently.) And so here I am, 25 and not only have I not started having kids, they are &lt;em&gt;nowhere on the horizon&lt;/em&gt; (which is actually really ok....so not ready for them at this point).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno, there were definitely a few "Holy crap! I'm 25!" moments yesterday and it still feels a little odd, but it's not totally the crisis I anticipated. I thought that I would really have a hard time if there was no guy in my life, if marriage wasn't at least on the distant horizon, but I'm pretty content right now. I'm not convinced that I'm in the right place for a relationship right at this moment (I reserve the right to change my tune if someone comes along, fyi). So really, I'm just going to keep living my life, enjoying what God has provided me with and following where He leads me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and my other goal this year is to consistently answer "I'm 25" when people ask me my age. None of this "turning 26 this year" business. Because, let's face it, it's just a downhill slide to 30 from here and &lt;em&gt;eeghads!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7552541903150246184?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7552541903150246184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7552541903150246184&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7552541903150246184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7552541903150246184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/11/quarter-life-crisis.html' title='Quarter Life Crisis'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8193759433638233977</id><published>2009-09-29T14:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T15:10:50.302-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Church Joy</title><content type='html'>When I was a kid I kinda hated church.  It was really boring, Sunday School sucked and I eventually reached an age where I wasn't allowed to bring books or fall asleep on my dad's arm anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to church &lt;em&gt;every single Sunday&lt;/em&gt;. Yeah, we were one of &lt;em&gt;those&lt;/em&gt; families. My parents were always super involved, both in our particular church and in the larger conference our church belonged to. I remember my dad going to many, many evening meetings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my dad became a pastor when I was 15. So then we actually had to relocate because of church. Man, I hated it. The church we moved to was nothing like the one I had grown up in and I did nothing but resent it for three solid years, until I could hightail it outta there to Bible School. And even in college I really only went to church because everyone else was. But I sure spent my fair share of Sunday mornings with Pastor Pillow, if you know what I'm saying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I returned to Manitoba after Bible School I went church hunting. For a year I attended one with a Bible School friend and even though I got a little bit involved, never really settled into it. Once I moved out with friends I started going to their church. And still, while I found a large group of friends and even a boyfriend, I had a hard time settling. I was unhappy with the pastor's preaching style, judged the worship teams. What a brat. Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally I started getting involved. I joined a worship team. I became a youth sponsor. I started worship leading. I did a pastoral internship. And then I realized "I'm settled."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have grown to deeply &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt; my church and my church family. Through my internship I got to know so many people, all different age groups. I particularly love our seniors. They're a riot. I began to appreciate our pastor and his wealth of wisdom. I love getting up on Sunday mornings to go to church because I love worshipping there and I love the people I worship with. What a gift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the first church that I have ever called my own. Growing up I just went to the church my family went to and then the one my dad pastored. In college I just went to the one that sent a bus to pick us up. Now, I have chosen a church, I have chosen to get involved and I've chosen to make it home. I would be devastated if our pastor were to leave. I can now understand why that hurts people so badly. I want to be involved there for as long as I'm living here. I want to walk down their beautiful centre aisle on my wedding day. I'd like to someday be able to serve there with my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Church" is touchy for a lot of people. Many have been hurt by the church and it holds a lot of painful memories for them. But for me, it is just such a &lt;em&gt;gift.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8193759433638233977?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8193759433638233977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8193759433638233977&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8193759433638233977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8193759433638233977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/09/church-joy.html' title='Church Joy'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6964729726615406517</id><published>2009-08-31T08:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T08:43:55.787-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Trust</title><content type='html'>"Trust" is not knowing the outcome but believing that because God is sovereign, the outcome will be inherently &lt;em&gt;good.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6964729726615406517?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6964729726615406517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6964729726615406517&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6964729726615406517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6964729726615406517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/08/trust.html' title='Trust'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2090901790701988810</id><published>2009-08-01T21:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T22:10:25.024-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Heavy Hearts</title><content type='html'>It's been a rough week for my church community. The &lt;a href="http://noahgrantjohn.blogspot.com/"&gt;Loewen's&lt;/a&gt; lost their little boy, Noah. No parent should ever have to watch their child die and they have watched him fight for his life for nearly four years now. The pain and suffering is over for him and he is with Jesus. However the pain and sadness is far from over for his family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, about two weeks ago one of my youth girls was in a very serious accident at camp.She fell from the top of a 25 foot climbing wall, breaking both of her legs and an arm. Yesterday they amputated her right foot because the ankle was shattered so badly that blood could not flow properly through to her foot. She is such a wonderful young woman and her life is now altered forever. She's tall, blonde, a basketball and a lover of music. She is me, 9 years ago. I know what it's like to have to have to let of your identity as an athlete. It defined who I was for a long time. She's losing that identity in a far more traumatic way than I did. My heart hurts for her. She is strong and is handling this with maturity far beyond her 16 years. But it still just doesn't seem real. I keep expecting someone to tell me that they didn't have to take her leg. But the call just doesn't come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prayers for these people would be appreciated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2090901790701988810?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2090901790701988810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2090901790701988810&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2090901790701988810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2090901790701988810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/08/heavy-hearts.html' title='Heavy Hearts'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3818933307670857916</id><published>2009-07-21T15:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T15:57:26.748-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Guys and Dolls</title><content type='html'>So here's a question: can a guy and a girl ever become friends, like really good friends, without one party (or both) developing a romantic interest in the other?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always really liked being friends with guys. I think it's really important for girls to have male friends whom they can trust, whom they can ask questions of ("Do guys really think like this??" "What does it mean when a guy says &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt;???" etc) and who are safe. But I think "safe" is tricky in these types of relationships. "Safe" to me means I don't have to worry about him falling for me or me falling for him. But is that ever really a guarantee? I've definitely had friendships where they were safe at one point and then became not safe. I think maybe it's possible but requires a lot of communication.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps these aren't healthy relationships. Is it possible that the other party becomes a pseudo boyfriend or girlfriend? Someone who becomes that person you turn to when you need to talk, someone to lean on, etc, without the physical part of a dating relationship (also not to be confused with the very dangerous Friends With Benefits phenomenon). It's probably not healthy to have a substitute boyfriend or girlfriend this way, is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I greatly value the guys God has placed in my life. I know strong, responsible, God-fearing men and they are a great part of my life. Figuring out appropriate boundaries with them is a different challenge. They are friendships I would never want to risk damaging, dear friends I would never dream of intentionally hurting.  Neither do I want to hurt myself or develop unhealthy dependencies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am learning that God needs to be the one, the only One, I turn to in order to find self-worth, to find deeply fulfilling love. He continues to teach me lessons as I journey through life. I'm grateful for them, even the ones that hurt a little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3818933307670857916?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3818933307670857916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3818933307670857916&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3818933307670857916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3818933307670857916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/07/guys-and-dolls.html' title='Guys and Dolls'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3415912935906843718</id><published>2009-07-02T11:10:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T12:04:37.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Grow up, Dana</title><content type='html'>Ok, my temper tantrum from the other day is over. I am back to acting like a mid-20s adult. Me and God just had some working out of things to do. I've been reminded that He knows what He's doing and I can let Him resume control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have this mantra that I am repeating these days. It calms me down when the 3 year old in me wants to stamp my feet and dissolve into a fit of angry, irrational tears. It goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is sovereign&lt;br /&gt;His timing is perfect&lt;br /&gt;I am exactly where I am supposed to be&lt;br /&gt;Because I am exactly where He is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was questioning God's goodness for a couple days there. How I can question that in light of all He has brought me through in the past two-ish years is beyond me, but sometimes I lose sight of the big picture and all that He &lt;em&gt;has&lt;/em&gt; done and &lt;em&gt;is &lt;/em&gt;doing and just focus on what it appears He &lt;em&gt;isn't &lt;/em&gt;doing. The bigger picture is in a little clearer focus now and I can remember that God is &lt;em&gt;good a&lt;/em&gt;nd has &lt;em&gt;good &lt;/em&gt;things for me. Where I am right now in my life is exactly where I should be because God is here with me. That's important for me to remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another of His favourite reminders for me is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Be still and know that I am God"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3415912935906843718?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3415912935906843718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3415912935906843718&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3415912935906843718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3415912935906843718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/07/grow-up-dana.html' title='Grow up, Dana'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7757586686946746697</id><published>2009-06-29T12:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T12:19:31.614-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Weary</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Have you ever felt like you just don't want to continue fighting? Like the journey is just too much at this moment? Like you just want to sit down where you are and hang your head in defeat?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352800314874534546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/Skj3hqmyGpI/AAAAAAAAAHI/tjjt7WqW0uo/s320/Hopeless_by_skeletal_insanity01.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's where I am today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7757586686946746697?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7757586686946746697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7757586686946746697&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7757586686946746697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7757586686946746697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/06/weary.html' title='Weary'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/Skj3hqmyGpI/AAAAAAAAAHI/tjjt7WqW0uo/s72-c/Hopeless_by_skeletal_insanity01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7030850561998767584</id><published>2009-06-24T14:26:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T14:48:37.025-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Golden Years</title><content type='html'>I was thinking this morning that I am really going to miss these years when they're over. Now, hear me out before you get all up in my business about being pessimistic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the first to admit that these days I'm a little impatient to be dating someone. Now that everything is over with Justin, I can FINALLY say that I am ready. But that's not something I can force to have happen, so I will continue to learn my lesson in patience. But when you start dating someone, it changes the rest of your friendships. And I absolutely adore my girls these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we're all married and all that jazz we don't get to live together anymore, unless our husbands are really cool about a lot of things. Me thinks that's highly unlikely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm really gonna miss living with some of my best friends and I'm determined to enjoy this for however much longer it lasts. Cuz I'm never gonna get it back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I just looked and my blog profile has been viewed 680 times. Last time I looked it was around 250ish I think. Who's stalking me?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7030850561998767584?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7030850561998767584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7030850561998767584&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7030850561998767584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7030850561998767584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/06/golden-years.html' title='The Golden Years'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6884012348958156617</id><published>2009-05-18T20:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T20:30:29.411-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Come ON already</title><content type='html'>Excuse me, is this thing on??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ATTENTION, SUMMER. YOU HAVE MISSED YOUR CUE. GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE AND START DOING YOUR JOB.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6884012348958156617?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6884012348958156617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6884012348958156617&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6884012348958156617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6884012348958156617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/05/come-on-already.html' title='Come ON already'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2627181742761761876</id><published>2009-05-10T19:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T20:01:09.734-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Lovin' It</title><content type='html'>Isn't life awesome? I love being able to say that as someone who has experienced depression and discontentment with my life. I love being able to have peace about the future, knowing Who is in control. I love looking ahead to what's coming with anticipation. I love looking at what's happening right now and bask in its awesomeness. I love looking back at where I've been, seeing how far I've come and praising Jesus that I made it out in one piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year ago my heart hurt so badly and the night was still dark. Today my heart is healed, as is my relationship (now a friendship) with J. It is lovely to know that I survived that and became a better person for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have friends who mean the world to me, who make life brighter and who are proof of God's love for me. I thank Him every day for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a family who, while being far away, support me and encourage me in everything I do. After struggling to find my place in this family, I love the security I now find there. I love that my sister and I have formed a special kind of friendship in our adulthood; our conversations are now borne out of shared experiences and life lessons and this is a blessing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a job that I love most of the time (I say "most of the time" for a reason. Don't get me wrong, I have an awesome job and I can't believe I get paid to do some of the things I do. I work with a fabulously supportive team and my boss is one of the best I've ever had. It's just there are some areas of my job that require skills that are not my strengths and this is frustrating sometimes). I am in the profession of helping people which is exactly where I want to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is so good today. Summer is on it's way, holidays are coming and I'm happy, baby!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2627181742761761876?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2627181742761761876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2627181742761761876&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2627181742761761876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2627181742761761876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-lovin-it.html' title='I&apos;m Lovin&apos; It'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2234230254498932377</id><published>2009-04-17T14:14:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T21:41:40.199-05:00</updated><title type='text'>This Moment Brought to You by Humiliation Central</title><content type='html'>As I was leaving my hairdresser's today she said "You've got something stuck to your bum!". With that embarassed feeling making my stomach feel all yucky, I felt around and pulled off a sticker. Turns out the sizing sticker from the new t-shirt I decided to wear today managed to adhere itself to my behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's just what I need - to go around advertising my ass as XL.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2234230254498932377?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2234230254498932377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2234230254498932377&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2234230254498932377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2234230254498932377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-moment-brought-to-you-by.html' title='This Moment Brought to You by Humiliation Central'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1519434317818165195</id><published>2009-04-09T16:22:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T16:39:14.440-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hold the Phone</title><content type='html'>So, as it turns out, I'm a grown-up. That happened sometime in the past 10 years without me realizing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25 is looming. &lt;em&gt;Looming&lt;/em&gt;. I mean it's 6 months away, but to me, that's still looming. 25 means 5 years till I'm 30. I want to marry someone older than me prefferably, which means &lt;em&gt;he'll&lt;/em&gt; be even closer to 30 than me. Eeegads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've realized recently that now that I'm done my BA (and have been done for a year, I might add), I should probably think about the next step. Logically that seems to be grad school, but I don't &lt;em&gt;feel&lt;/em&gt; old enough to be thinking about grad school. &lt;em&gt;Then&lt;/em&gt; I realize that if I had done my BA in 4 years like you're supposed to instead of 6, I could conceivably be finished my masters by now and &lt;em&gt;that &lt;strong&gt;really&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; makes me shit the proverbial brick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's just back this bus up a bit here and figure out where the hank time went.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1519434317818165195?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1519434317818165195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1519434317818165195&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1519434317818165195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1519434317818165195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/04/hold-phone.html' title='Hold the Phone'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5398916738132184913</id><published>2009-04-05T18:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T18:51:14.722-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Peace I Give You</title><content type='html'>I know, &lt;em&gt;I know&lt;/em&gt;, I have been a horrible blogger so far this year. I've got nothing in the way of explanation, other than...I just don't wanna. So there. But today I feel like writing a bit and so I will. And then this blog will probably again sit silent until the urge strikes again. So just keep being patient, intra-readers. Keep being patient and keep checking because you never know what might change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been an interesting few months. They've flown by. Like, really. Seeing as I work in a university I still measure time like students do - in terms of semesters. And this semester is &lt;em&gt;done&lt;/em&gt; this week. Like, that's just nuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since January I've been on a, how shall we call it&lt;em&gt;, roller coaster&lt;/em&gt;  journey.  It's a whole long story but in January Justin and I began talking about getting back together. It blindsided us both - but it seemed that God had opened doors to at least allow that conversation to take place. Justin was in Regina finishing his RCMP training and so we started by just sending emails. He graduated in February and came home for a week before moving up north to his first posting. We spent some time together that week - that was both good and really tough. We decided to keep moving in the direction of getting back together, but agreed to take it slowly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took it so slowly that it just never went &lt;em&gt;anywhere&lt;/em&gt;. It was such a frustrating time for me. He had enough distractions with his new life that it was easier on him. For me, that's all I had to think about. And then I'd start to worry and panic - but over and over God just gave me peace. And wisdom. Finally I sensed that it just wasn't happening on his end. Even though I had chosen to open myself to everything that being with him would mean, Justin could never quite get his head there and so last week we decided that our futures are still without one another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now we all remember how horrific it was for me the first time I had to break up with him. I never wanted to do it a second time. I never thought I could survive a second one. But you know what? I'm &lt;em&gt;fine.&lt;/em&gt; I won't say there haven't been a moment or two of sadness or a bit of anger, but they have been very brief moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best way I can describe it is that I am free. I don't have to wonder "what if?" anymore. I would have wondered forever, I think, if we'd made the right decision the first time around, if we could have made it work after all.  Now I know. And it's &lt;em&gt;fine&lt;/em&gt;. This peace is so unlike me. I'm a worrier - I feel everything really strongly with my heart and my heart and my head are rarely on the same page. It's a gift that they are now, in this. I can let him go, like &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; let him go this time, for good. I am free of what has held me captive for the past two and a half years and I can look to the future. I've believed that I could never love anyone again the same way I loved him - and in a way that may be true. They say that you never forget your first love and maybe I'll never totally forget what it was like to love him and what we learned together - because I believe we learned a lot. But I hope that next time, with the right guy, I love differently. I hope that I love with more respect. I hope I love with more patience. I l&lt;em&gt;ove&lt;/em&gt; being in love - there is no feeling like it - and I hope I get to do it again (maybe soon? So much for patience...). But now I have hope that someone else out there is better for me. No more "what ifs?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've kept a journal ever since breaking up with Justin the first time. There is an unbelievable amount of pain in there. I've read over it a few times and the weight of that grief is crushing. I threw it out yesterday. No big ceremony, no burning it in a fire in any type of feminist symbolic action. I just looked at it and knew I didn't need it anymore. I didn't want it anymore either - there's enough hurt in there to drown a horse. So I just put it in the trash bag and didn't give it any more thought than it needed. It's over. Finally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God's peace is pretty good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5398916738132184913?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5398916738132184913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5398916738132184913&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5398916738132184913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5398916738132184913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-peace-i-give-you.html' title='My Peace I Give You'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-9060761559756663738</id><published>2009-01-29T11:39:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T11:44:42.645-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Darkness and Light</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I really hate the dark. Since I was young I’ve had a rather irrational fear of the dark. Our dark basement terrified me. If I was ever left home alone, my parents would come home to find every single light in the house on. Now that I pay electrical bills, I understand their frustration with me. The worst possible thing you could do is make me play a game outside in the dark, especially the dark forest. My friends tried this in Bible School. I stood on the path swinging a very large branch around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I drive in the dark, my eyes don’t seem to work as well and I get frustrated. My house has very stupid lighting. There are not light fixtures in any of the bedrooms, so I have a floor lamp and a string of mini lights – only half of which work. I get frustrated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think both my fear and my frustration with darkness stem from my need to be in control. I feel very out of control in the dark, I can’t see very well, I never know what’s lurking just beyond the edges of what I can see. Suffice it to say I would be a very awful blind person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever felt as though you are standing in a pitch black room and there is only one small circle of light and you are standing in the middle of it? You can’t see anything past the edge of the circle. This is often how I feel in life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve come to realize that God is in that pitch black room and that circle of light is His gift of grace to me. I can’t see beyond it’s edges but it lights enough to keep me safe. Even if I move, that circle of light stays with me. When God calls me forward, the light moves with me, illuminating enough of the path that I am safe. I often have fear over not knowing what is in front of me, not knowing what is surrounding me out there in the darkness, but in His light, I can see. And that’s enough for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Psalm 143:8 – “Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296773013065606594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SYHq_eumpcI/AAAAAAAAAFk/Oh1MQ7IyOmI/s320/812138160_cbea6cc0b9.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-9060761559756663738?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/9060761559756663738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=9060761559756663738&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/9060761559756663738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/9060761559756663738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2009/01/darkness-and-light.html' title='Darkness and Light'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SYHq_eumpcI/AAAAAAAAAFk/Oh1MQ7IyOmI/s72-c/812138160_cbea6cc0b9.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-6293449041417770145</id><published>2008-09-06T10:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-06T10:10:42.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'>True Story</title><content type='html'>Last night a group from church got together. This is the "post-C&amp;amp;C" group, who are too old to go to C&amp;amp;C but don't fit in the "young marrieds" group either. We're figuring out a way to just be our own demographic as part of the church. Anyways, we don't want to be called the "20s &amp;amp; 30s group" so we were trying to come up with an appropriate name. This is part of the conversation that followed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Errin: "The seniors at my church are called "Free &amp;amp; Easy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Is that the widows group?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-6293449041417770145?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/6293449041417770145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=6293449041417770145&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6293449041417770145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/6293449041417770145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/09/true-story.html' title='True Story'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7388717085465520792</id><published>2008-08-25T20:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T20:42:38.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A direct line to heaven</title><content type='html'>It's hard to pray and not tell God what to do. I try to pray for God's will, but I know what I really don't want to have happen and how do I be ok if that ends up being what He has in mind? Last time I prayed about something like this, I was a 14 year old child and things didn't work out the way I wanted. But I have a theology degree now...maybe God will be more inclined to hear me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tears come pretty quick and my heart feels a little like breaking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7388717085465520792?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7388717085465520792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7388717085465520792&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7388717085465520792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7388717085465520792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/08/direct-line-to-heaven.html' title='A direct line to heaven'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4372517634411705767</id><published>2008-07-31T16:13:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T16:23:05.761-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My life is a novel?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if my life were a novel. Sometimes I think it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been reading a ton this summer. I devour books. As I was reading a book from the church library it suddenly struck me how alike my life is to a novel yet how different it is at the same time. One character said to another in one book, "I'm going to marry you, you know." And I thought, "no, sir, you do not know that. the only reason you say that is because the author made you say that. you can be so certain of that only because you are a character in a novel, someone else is in control of what happens to you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone once told me that he was going to marry me. Turns out he was wrong. Did the Author make him say it? I doubt it. The thing is, stuff doesn't end up quite as neat and tidy as it does in books. None of us knows anything for sure. The only one who does is the Author and He ain't tellin'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could read ahead in the novel of my life. It's hard sometimes to trust the Author that He's really got it all under control.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4372517634411705767?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4372517634411705767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4372517634411705767&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4372517634411705767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4372517634411705767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-life-is-novel.html' title='My life is a novel?'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5982281021552361848</id><published>2008-07-25T20:43:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T15:48:32.321-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where you shower twice a day - Tales of Montreal Pt. 3 (the conclusion)</title><content type='html'>It's been hot here in Winnipeg the last couple of days. Yesterday it was rather muggy as well. Nothing a Winnipeg summer has thrown at me has compared to the climate of Montreal. I'm talking humidity to the degree that the moment you stepped outside you felt sticky. Mmmm. Pleasant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So naturally, let's go walk around Montreal. &lt;em&gt;In the humidity&lt;/em&gt;. Don't get me wrong, it was cool to see the city, but did it have to be so gosh darn &lt;em&gt;heavy&lt;/em&gt; out there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did a lot of sightseeing. Our conference was over on Saturday at noon and we didn't leave for home until Monday afternoon and seeing as our hotel was out in the boonies, we had to find some way to fill our time. So we took a bus and two metro trains down to Old Montreal and walked. And walked and walked and walked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've never enjoyed walking much. Usually I would rather just run somewhere. You see, walking for long periods of time makes me sweaty. I don't like to be all sweaty unless I have purposed to get sweaty, ie. while working out. So walking has never been my favorite thing to do, especially in the mugginess. But dang were there some cool sights to see.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw the church where Celine Dion got married. Ornate is the word that comes to mind. (this picture was taken by Val Penner)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227136428068600754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqE4wOIe7I/AAAAAAAAAEU/p1OPjCXSQac/s320/val1.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw St. Jospeh's Oratory. Cool building. Lots of stairs. And a heart ensconsed in fermaldehyde. (this picture was taken by Val Penner)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227136199186255970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqErbkVEGI/AAAAAAAAAEM/rEDq-cz9DTg/s320/val.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw the Olympic Stadium. Looking kind of run down but cool architecture.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227134937167038210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqDh-LgBwI/AAAAAAAAAD0/n55dHVTNB0A/s320/Montreal+015.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw the harbor. Lots of boats. Really really nice boats. Like the ones at the yacht club. So pretty.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227135272437914514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqD1fKTm5I/AAAAAAAAAD8/4BMbwPa1x-0/s320/Montreal+040.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw the cobblestone streets that reminded me of Europe. Oh Europe.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227135498014382898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqECnf7WzI/AAAAAAAAAEE/NWn6QFn9F94/s320/Montreal+022.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw the fireworks. There was an international fireworks competition happening while we were there and we caught the 1/2 hour show by Portugal. Pretty cool but I couldn't help think to myself, &lt;em&gt;There are people dying of hunger in this world and we spend half a million dollars just to blow things up the sky? &lt;/em&gt;(this picture was taken by Val Penner)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227136605495121298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqFDFL6VZI/AAAAAAAAAEc/pdYHUZC3xoY/s320/val2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all, a cool place. But did I mention I almost &lt;em&gt;melted???&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5982281021552361848?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5982281021552361848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5982281021552361848&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5982281021552361848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5982281021552361848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/07/where-you-shower-twice-day-tales-of.html' title='Where you shower twice a day - Tales of Montreal Pt. 3 (the conclusion)'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIqE4wOIe7I/AAAAAAAAAEU/p1OPjCXSQac/s72-c/val1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5253355389063686874</id><published>2008-07-19T20:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-19T21:07:30.659-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where "Jesus" is a swear word - Tales of Montreal Pt. 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Now, don't get your panties in a knot over that title and just listen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I learned a lot about the spiritual culture in Quebec while I was there. It's a sad state of affairs. There was a whole lot of church growth in the 60s and 70s there and now it has died off in the worst was. The Catholic church bears much of the blame for this. Did you know that they required women to bear a child every year or risk being cut from the church? Me thinks they took the verse, "women will be saved through childbirth" a little seriously.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In light of the harshness of the church, many people want nothing to do with religion of any kind. If you mention Jesus to them, they run, literally run, the other direction. Evangelism is challenging in a place like this. We met a couple who have started a "church" in their back alley. They do church without mentioning Jesus. Basically they're a presence in the poorest French community in Montreal.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On the second night of the convention we convened on the top of Mount Royal, which overlooks Montrel, for a worship time. This is not a private place; we were not the only ones there. I didn't participate in the small group prayer time so I was able to observe some of the locals. There was a group of three girls, drinkning wine from bottles, who were watching all that was taking place. No, not just watching, they were mocking. The stood beside a group of people praying, wrapped their arms around each other and pretended to pray as well, while their friend snapped a picture. Many more imitations and pictures later, they broke out into the Hallelujah chorus.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;They really were being quite ignorant, yet I felt absolutely no anger. Just compassion and profound &lt;em&gt;profound&lt;/em&gt; sadness. They just don't have any idea. Oh, my heart just broke for them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The whole experience atop Mount Royal was...surreal. Now, we all know that I am no evangelist. Not in the slightest. I prefer to live my faith and I am the last person you will find preaching from a street corner. I also try to be sensitive to the needs and opinions of others. So a public worship service atop a mountain in a very anti-Christian community is not going to be my cup of tea. And then to ask me to "yell for Jesus." Now you're just begging me to roll my eyes at you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;How do you think those people felt as we yelled about "the harvest being ripe" (no, I'm not joking, they did) and other Christian slogans. We might as well have been screaming obsenities at them. In their culture, we basically were. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quebec needs Jesus. I am convinced of that, don't get me wrong. The MB Conference needs people to go and do that work. The way we did it last weekend was not the right way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224912019194848482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIKdzHbHJOI/AAAAAAAAADs/8fli7yX4SWs/s320/Montreal+007.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5253355389063686874?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5253355389063686874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5253355389063686874&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5253355389063686874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5253355389063686874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/07/where-jesus-is-swear-word-tales-of.html' title='Where &quot;Jesus&quot; is a swear word - Tales of Montreal Pt. 2'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SIKdzHbHJOI/AAAAAAAAADs/8fli7yX4SWs/s72-c/Montreal+007.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7108206240050191920</id><published>2008-07-14T22:21:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T08:44:15.361-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bonjour, Hello - Tales of Montreal Pt. 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SHypobyfMII/AAAAAAAAADk/Gg2giqK7yU4/s1600-h/Montreal+058.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223236179962310786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SHypobyfMII/AAAAAAAAADk/Gg2giqK7yU4/s320/Montreal+058.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, internet friends, it's been awhile. First there was nothing really exciting to write about and then life got busy and I had no time to fill you in. But have no fear, I have not forgotten you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I got home from a trip to Montreal. The Canadian Mennonite Bretheren Conference met there this year for Gathering 2008. I went as a delegate from Fort Garry and also as part of my internship. This was a pretty cool opportunity and I really appreciated it. It was a great chance to network and get to know a lot of people whose names I know but have never met. It was also less intimidating because my parents were also there and my dad was great at introducing me to people. I am well-known through my father who is "famous" in the MB conference. I swear everyone knows him. My sister-in-law jokes that she married into MB royalty. It's really not that bad...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we touched down in Montreal I felt a sense of awe that there is a whole half of Canada that I've never seen. I also somewhat expected to feel as though Montreal was almost a different country, with it's different culture and language. As the shuttle took us to the hotel we passed a Dollarama and I was excited. Not because I needed or wanted to go to Dollarama but because I was relieved to see a word that I could actually read...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a way, Quebec is a little like being in another country. First, there is the aforementioned language difference. I was told that pretty much everyone spoke English as well as French. This was not the case at the restaurant where I tried to order my first Quebecois meal. I don't know that I actually got what I thought I ordered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, they drive like Europeans. Lane markings are mere suggestions and we seemed to be quite comfortable taking up two lanes most of the time. The streets too, especially in Old Montreal, look very much like the cobblestone streets I saw in Europe. It was very interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The opening worship service for Gathering was amazing. It was a bilingual service with everything being translated into French which was frustrating in a lot of ways. Two women shared their testimonies. The first was in french and the second was in english. Neither were translated into the other language. So I have no idea what the first woman said. It was so humbling to realize that this is what it is like for many many people. I am used to hearing the dominant language almost constantly. I really don't know what it's like to not understand and it was interesting to put myself in someone else's shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worship was really really good. We all know I've been pretty spiritually apathetic lately and God broke down some walls during that service. I don't know if I've ever been moved to tears by worship - which is so tragic- but there I was, tears streaming down my face, my hand in the air like a pentacostal poster child, worshipping my Jesus. It was powerful and not something I am likely to forget any time soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned for more Tales from Montreal...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7108206240050191920?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7108206240050191920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7108206240050191920&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7108206240050191920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7108206240050191920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/07/bonjour-hello.html' title='Bonjour, Hello - Tales of Montreal Pt. 1'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SHypobyfMII/AAAAAAAAADk/Gg2giqK7yU4/s72-c/Montreal+058.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5214526773009454979</id><published>2008-06-25T11:48:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T11:49:13.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I told you so</title><content type='html'>I just happened to see this article on my MSN home page today,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2193879/?GT1=38001"&gt;http://www.slate.com/id/2193879/?GT1=38001&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rest my case.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5214526773009454979?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5214526773009454979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5214526773009454979&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5214526773009454979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5214526773009454979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-told-you-so.html' title='I told you so'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8323207734103894925</id><published>2008-06-23T20:02:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T20:24:44.290-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bags, Bags and more Bags</title><content type='html'>Here's a couple cool things that cool people are doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bags4darfur.blogspot.com/"&gt;Bags for Darfur&lt;/a&gt; - this lady makes handbags out of recycled fabrics (mostly purchased from thrift stores, etc.) and all the proceeds go to supprt the effort to provde shelter and aid to the people of Darfur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend &lt;a href="http://pluckymama.wordpress.com/"&gt;Leah&lt;/a&gt;'s sister Jennie is making &lt;a href="http://bagsforzaza.blogspot.com/"&gt;Bags for Zaza&lt;/a&gt;. Zaza is a little girl that a couple in Florida wants to adopt (they call her Zaza because we don't know who she is yet). Jennie isn't buying any new fabric, she is using stuff that has been piling up in her house over the years. Since she is spending $0 on buying new material, all of her proceeds can go towards the family waiting to bring Zaza home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of these bags are incredible. There have been many on the site that I have wanted to buy but never got around to actually doing it. Alas, now these bags are being worn by different women around the country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think these are really cool efforts. Go check 'em out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8323207734103894925?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8323207734103894925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8323207734103894925&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8323207734103894925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8323207734103894925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/06/bags-bags-and-more-bags.html' title='Bags, Bags and more Bags'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7726178474443309152</id><published>2008-06-20T21:33:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T09:14:33.061-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Phobo-mania</title><content type='html'>I hate bugs. I mean, really really hate them. I wish it were funny, but to me it's not, it's just disturbing. I've never been much of a girly-girl but bugs...I can't do bugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not all bugs really, I can handle most of them, most of them time. I mean I never like them crawling on me and get really freaked out if I find them in my room or, worse, in my bed **&lt;em&gt;shudder&lt;/em&gt;** but I can usually handle them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Manitoba has a few species of bugs that I cannot handle. I have a paralyzing fear of wood ticks and get the MAJOR heebie-jeebies around cankerworms. These are bugs that I did not know about prior to moving to this horrid province &lt;em&gt;(Note: I know I recently said that Manitoba was home but a)I really only like it from September to October when there are neither bugs nor frigid temperatures; and b) it's the people who make it feel like home...I actually care very little for the province itself)&lt;/em&gt;. I was not aware that Alberta had ticks or cankerworms although my parents assure me they were there. Ticks are apparently in Indian Battle Park but we never went down there during their season. And there must have been cankerworms because my parents say that I am just like my grandma...if there are worms hanging off the trees she doesn't go outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wood ticks are impossible to kill and burrow their tiny little heads into your skin and suck your blood until they are fat and red. **&lt;em&gt;shhhhuuuudddder&lt;/em&gt;** They hide in inconspicous places like behind ears, in your hair and in your nether-regions. People try to tell me that they only live in long grasses out in the countryside. They lie. True, I have never seen one in the city but my friend said he got one from the field across from our house and that's enough for me. I stick to the pavement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wood tick season is generally from May to June and as if that's not bad enough, in June the cankerworms come out. They spend all spring eating the leaves of all the trees and when they are nice and full they rappel from the trees from thin strings. So you're walking along and all of the sudden you are surrounded by these little green &lt;em&gt;worms&lt;/em&gt; hanging off of the trees. **&lt;em&gt;shhhhuuuudddder**&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you see, neither the grass nor the pavement is safe from disgusting bugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I was at a barbeque and I found it impossible to enjoy myself. I was tense the entire time. You see, this yard was well shaded by trees. &lt;em&gt;Cankerworm&lt;/em&gt; trees. I could see them hanging down just waiting to land on me. What's worse is that every so often you would think that you felt teeny tiny raindrops on you. Only it wasn't raining. The damn worms were &lt;em&gt;peeing on me.&lt;/em&gt; And if that's not bad enough, I would look down and see these little black round things all over, on my clothes, on my plate, in my hair, everywhere. It was raining worm shit too! I wonder how much worm feces I ate last night. I just don't want to think about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is enough to confine me to my house until these bugs are gone. Only once they're gone the mosquitoes come. Thankfully mosquitoes don't like me that much and neither do they disgust me like the aforementioned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think something is wrong with me. It's not just a minor annoyance with these insects...I quite literally will just stay in my house to avoid them. Does anyone have any advice? Can anyone just make the bugs go away? Help me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7726178474443309152?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7726178474443309152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7726178474443309152&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7726178474443309152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7726178474443309152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/06/phobo-mania.html' title='Phobo-mania'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4259983427441393429</id><published>2008-06-12T14:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T14:12:22.888-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good for a Laugh</title><content type='html'>"No other organism makes a showier display of its sex life than the angiosperm."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for the tip, Biology Textbook.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4259983427441393429?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4259983427441393429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4259983427441393429&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4259983427441393429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4259983427441393429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/06/good-for-laugh.html' title='Good for a Laugh'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1358465378786783442</id><published>2008-06-10T16:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T16:44:29.295-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Uphill Journey</title><content type='html'>Well, things are on the up and up, it seems. I still have a long way to go, but I also realize that this is a life-long journey that I am not expecting to perfect. However, I have made some progress out of the spiritual desert. And for that I am thankful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It actually had a lot to do with the sermon I've been working on the last few weeks. I really don't enjoy preaching a whole lot. Actually, it's the writing that I don't like. I've always been good at it, but it just drains me and makes me act like I have adult ADD. I don't mind the speaking as much, although the nerves that happen right before are unpleasant. But once I get up there and start speaking I'm just fine. I'm also a good faker so people can't usually tell that I'm nervous. That's a blessing. The last thing I want is to make people feel anxious for me because I'm displaying anxiety. Have you ever felt that? You know the person up there is nervous or not comfortable, or they're really bombing up there and you get that yucky knot in your stomach too? I don't like doing that to people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANYways...long detour there. My church is doing a family series right now and I preached on family blessing, based on 2 Samuel 7 where king David tells God that he is going build him a temple and God says "no i'm going to build you a house" which was really a covenant he made with David ensuring the rule of his family forever, which came true with the birth of Jesus, the Eternal King. Talk about family blessing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then related this to how God is blessing our family as well...he has created His family and we are members in it. When we think of that stark grace that God is pouring out by establishing his covenant with us, it is overwhelming and we ask, just like David asked, "Why me? Who am I? What makes me so special that God would choose me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are not perfect, but neither was David and God chose him. God chose us. Talk about family blessing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want you will be able to listen to my sermon &lt;a href="http://www.fgmb.ca/sermons.shtml"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;. It's not posted up there yet, but keep checking...it should go up this week sometime. I wouldn't say that it's the best sermon I've written, but I would say that it is what God put on my heart to say. Maybe I say it's not my best sermon because I haven't heard a ton of feedback on it and I am insecure still in my preaching abilities and so I feel slightly nervous about how it's all perceived. All that aside, I do feel that this was the message God gave me to say last Sunday and that is all I could ever hope for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it was through writing and thinking about this that God drew me back to him. When I finally made the final connection in my brain (which eventually happens during the sermon-writing process) it really stopped me in my tracks. It just kept running over and over in my mind "God chose me. He chose me. He chose me." It was a wonderful realization. I'm not perfect and yet God chose me. And it made me excited about my faith again. That brings joy where before I felt empty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1358465378786783442?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1358465378786783442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1358465378786783442&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1358465378786783442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1358465378786783442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/06/uphill-journey.html' title='The Uphill Journey'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1037112507109227282</id><published>2008-06-05T21:36:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T21:59:22.955-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Back on the Horse</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I do have an update regarding my previous post, but I'm preaching this Sunday and my follow-up is closely realted to what I will say in my sermon, so I'm going to hold off a few days until after I've preached it. That way those of you from here who read my blog can hear the sermon first. Call me anal. I don't care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I went for my first run tonight in a long while. I have known that I need to get my arse off the couch, but knowing is different than doing. I lost 15 pounds in the first four months of this year. Some of it was the result of hard work at the gym, which was also driven by my post-breakup brush with anorexia (yes, I admit it, to those of you who suspected it, I'm sorry for lying, thanks for worrying about me). Don't worry, I was never truly committed to being anorexic, but I did flirt with the idea. And honestly, I just wasn't hungry and was actually mostly nauseous all day every day. Food really held no appeal. So I dropped 15 pounds. However I did it, it still happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I felt great. I felt pretty. I felt hopeful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I first injured my back and then sprained my ankle and my trips to the gym stopped very suddenly. Also, as my heart finally healed, I was no longer constantly nauseous (thank the Lord). Combine that with a trip to see my Grandma in Alberta where I had plenty of wonderful Mennonite meals and my stomach size has stretched right back out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel yucky. I feel heavy. I feel discouraged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that exercise makes me feel good about myself. I know to be healthy I need to drop a few more pounds, especially with the family genes I have inherited. But sometimes it's just so hard to get off the couch. And it's hard to say no to the second bowl of ice cream. But I must. For me, I must.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, Happy Birthday to my adorable nephew &lt;a href="http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2006/06/picture-perfect.html"&gt;Caleb&lt;/a&gt;, who is 2 today. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SEin8F1JWcI/AAAAAAAAADc/2PlafXTeLA4/s1600-h/untitled1.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208597619853056450" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SEin8F1JWcI/AAAAAAAAADc/2PlafXTeLA4/s320/untitled1.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SEinEGaF8zI/AAAAAAAAADU/JLMRrGD74b0/s1600-h/kids+and+kittens+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208596657935348530" style="WIDTH: 2px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 1px" height="320" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SEinEGaF8zI/AAAAAAAAADU/JLMRrGD74b0/s320/kids+and+kittens+2.jpg" width="81" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1037112507109227282?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1037112507109227282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1037112507109227282&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1037112507109227282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1037112507109227282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/06/getting-back-on-horse.html' title='Getting Back on the Horse'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SEin8F1JWcI/AAAAAAAAADc/2PlafXTeLA4/s72-c/untitled1.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1992257184598475212</id><published>2008-05-20T13:08:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T14:04:50.237-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Spiritual PMS</title><content type='html'>Is there such a thing? If there is I think I might have it. Somehow I don't think the pharmacy sells an over-the-counter pill for it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going through a dry spell spiritually. God doesn't feel all that close and it seems like a far hike to get back. I'm having a hard time wanting to pray and when I do, my prayers seem to hit the ceiling and fall right back into my lap. Lately I've been involved in lots of meetings where I am forced to pray out loud. I used to not mind that so much. Now I loathe it. I can't think of anything to say and everything feels so disjointed. Even my body feels weird...my eyes are closed but I feel like everything is spinning. I don't like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my goals this year was to read through the Bible. I did really well for january and february. I haven't touched my Bible much since then and I know it is a root cause of the spiritual desert I find myself in. But now I'm so far behind I feel like I can't catch up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This just leaves me so frustrated. I'm working in a church for goodness sake...I'm technically a pastor right now! Pastors aren't supposed to be in a spiritual desert. The mountain just looks so steep...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SDMYeJDA9fI/AAAAAAAAADM/syQMJCqkqgo/s1600-h/Atacama_desert.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202528900646761970" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SDMYeJDA9fI/AAAAAAAAADM/syQMJCqkqgo/s320/Atacama_desert.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am just so grouchy today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1992257184598475212?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1992257184598475212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1992257184598475212&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1992257184598475212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1992257184598475212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/05/spiritual-pms.html' title='Spiritual PMS'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/SDMYeJDA9fI/AAAAAAAAADM/syQMJCqkqgo/s72-c/Atacama_desert.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7506132268527743173</id><published>2008-05-11T21:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-11T21:59:27.552-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mmm, ironic?</title><content type='html'>So God has funny timing. You know how I just posted about how Manitoba has become home? Well last weekend my parents resigned at the church in Selkirk. I don't know where they're going (neither do they) but there is of course the possibility that they won't stay in Manitoba. This place is home, but will it still be home when I'm the only one left here?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7506132268527743173?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7506132268527743173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7506132268527743173&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7506132268527743173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7506132268527743173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/05/mmm-ironic.html' title='Mmm, ironic?'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4726990476309582175</id><published>2008-04-29T21:31:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T21:49:18.506-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Feels Like Home to Me</title><content type='html'>I've lived in Manitoba for nearly nine years now (including the two years I spent at CBC). Before that I lived in Alberta for fifteen years; thirteen of the those years were spent on the very farm my father grew up on. The last two years were spent living in the house my grandma lived in for as long as I can remember...it was my second home in a variety of ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving to Manitoba wasn't easy. I wanted to stay in Coaldale, I wanted to keep my friends, I wanted to graduate from the same high school that my dad, sister and brother all graduated from. I wanted to stay at &lt;em&gt;home&lt;/em&gt;. For these reasons and more, I refused to allow Manitoba to become home. I bided my time, knowing that I had to endure three years of high school before I could move to BC for Bible college and I had no intentions of returning to this "waste land" as I called it. Alas, financial pressures being what they are in life, and the economy being what it is in the west, I &lt;em&gt;did&lt;/em&gt; return to Manitoba after Bible school. And still, Manitoba did not feel like home to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's four years later, and just now am I beginning to be able to call Winnipeg "home." It's not that I think I will stay here forever, because I highly doubt I will, but I have a life here now. I have a church home where I am involved, appreciated and nurtured. I have extremely close friends in a variety of networks, many of whom I can't bear to be separated from for any length of time. I have a house (well, sort of). I finally have allowed myself to feel at home here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So how come whenever I travel to Alberta my eyes fill with tears as soon as I enter the province? Why am I instantly enveloped in this comforting sense of really being &lt;em&gt;home&lt;/em&gt; when I cross the border? Why do I still instinctively &lt;em&gt;know&lt;/em&gt; that there is &lt;strong&gt;nothing&lt;/strong&gt; like the Alberta sky? Why is west my favorite direction? Why do I have this hard knot in my stomach, like I'm going the wrong direction, that I'm leaving something extremely important behind that gets farther and farther away with each passing mile road as we head back to Manitoba?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I'll always be an Alberta girl.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4726990476309582175?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4726990476309582175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4726990476309582175&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4726990476309582175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4726990476309582175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/04/feels-like-home-to-me.html' title='Feels Like Home to Me'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4043535757959244165</id><published>2008-04-14T19:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-14T19:14:05.011-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hrmmm</title><content type='html'>I have three exams this week (for which I have just started studying today...) One exam is on preaching. Another is on my spirituality. The third is on counseling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it just me or are these three of the least testable subjects around?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4043535757959244165?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4043535757959244165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4043535757959244165&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4043535757959244165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4043535757959244165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/04/hrmmm.html' title='Hrmmm'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8841899720360988496</id><published>2008-04-07T20:21:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T23:38:32.754-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Self Soothing</title><content type='html'>Parents have to teach their babies to self-soothe at some point. The ones who don't learn to self-soothe usually cause their parents all kinds of grief, ie. waking them up multiple times in the night for comfort. They also generally grow up to become less well-adjusted adults. Self-soothing is an important life skill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think God has given us copious self-soothing tools in Scripture. I have forgotten this lately and have simply allowed myself to feel increasingly oppressed by the amount of anger and hurt there remains to be healed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;" But what can I say? He has spoken to me, and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of the anguish in my soul. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds life in them too. You restored me to health and let me live. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Surely it was for my benfit that I suffered such anguish. In your love you kept me from the pit of destruction; you have put all my sins behind your back. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;For the grave cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise; those who go down in the pit cannot hope for your faithfulness. The living, the living - they praise you, as I am doing today; fathers and mothers tell their children about your faithfulness."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;~ Isaiah 38:15-19&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I forget that I have the ability to self-soothe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8841899720360988496?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8841899720360988496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8841899720360988496&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8841899720360988496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8841899720360988496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/04/self-soothing.html' title='Self Soothing'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8360726929825823012</id><published>2008-03-23T22:37:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-23T22:59:35.594-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Punk'd</title><content type='html'>Props to the Meadowood boys. Triple props in fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Six months ago we Mapleridge girls decided it was time to bring back the old-school business of pranking. None of us had pranked since Bible school days and we were feeling the urge. The Meadowood house is a group of four of our closest male friends. They made for easy targets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We knew they would be out of town one weekend. We convinced dear sweet Ben that we wanted to pull a prank on Garry only (this was not a lie at the time). So dear sweet Ben left us his house key. When we got inside we realized our original prank was not going to work so we had to come with plan B. So we turned their kitchen into a beach. Complete with an inflatable palm tree. And gold fish in a blow up pool. And in their kitchen sink. And we took a picture of us three on the beach and saved it as the desktop picture on every computer we could find. Oh and we had the Beach Boys CD blaring for when they got home. It was classic. This is what it looked like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R-cj1W_o1AI/AAAAAAAAAC0/pHcmVvJDJtY/s1600-h/n796075553_1209316_4260.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181149295925580802" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R-cj1W_o1AI/AAAAAAAAAC0/pHcmVvJDJtY/s320/n796075553_1209316_4260.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have waited nervously for six months. I had visions of dead goldfish turning up in random places.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight at 10:03 our doorbell rang. Alicia opened the door, quickly slammed it shut and said, "There are chickens at our door."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What?! Uh huh. Three chickens between our screen door and inside door. Alive. Wearing diapers. Pecking at the door. Pooping. &lt;em&gt;Chickens.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R-ckxm_o1BI/AAAAAAAAAC8/XVWde8BbFQc/s1600-h/Pranked+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181150331012699154" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R-ckxm_o1BI/AAAAAAAAAC8/XVWde8BbFQc/s320/Pranked+002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thankfully the culprits were still hanging around, watching and laughing at us as all three of us jumped off our balcony to get outside, because there was no way we were opening the door from the inside. They took the chickens away for us (I don't even want to think about what's going to happen to the poor things). But they left the poopy diapers. And a basket full of decorated eggs. And a CD of the Chicken Dance song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently Barbara foiled their original plan. We were all supposed to be gone this afternoon and the boys were going to break into our house, put poly down in our kitchen and leave the chickens in there. Which would have been extra hilarious. Alas, Barbara was home and thus saved us a different sort of mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hilarious, cute prank. The kind we like. Good for more than a few laughs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8360726929825823012?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8360726929825823012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8360726929825823012&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8360726929825823012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8360726929825823012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/punkd.html' title='Punk&apos;d'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R-cj1W_o1AI/AAAAAAAAAC0/pHcmVvJDJtY/s72-c/n796075553_1209316_4260.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-713215098967157135</id><published>2008-03-22T23:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-22T23:09:44.012-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Disjointed conversations</title><content type='html'>This is a conversation I had tonight with Janessa. This is a mere sample of what happened over the course of the evening. If I had a gong, I would ring it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janessa: &lt;em&gt;(trying to get comfortable on the couch, eventually wedging her foot between cushions which are now haphazardly strewn on the couch)&lt;/em&gt; "Ah, finally."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: &lt;em&gt;(with one eye on the Calgary Flames game in the background)&lt;u&gt; &lt;/u&gt;&lt;/em&gt;"Yeah, this....couch....sometimes is a...little.... "&lt;em&gt;(trailing off)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janessa:&lt;em&gt; (long pause)&lt;/em&gt; Uh....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Yeah, that was the end of the sentance."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janessa: &lt;em&gt;(without missing a beat)&lt;/em&gt; "I kind of wish I was dating Joelle!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Consider the gong rung.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-713215098967157135?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/713215098967157135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=713215098967157135&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/713215098967157135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/713215098967157135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/disjointed-conversations.html' title='Disjointed conversations'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7421341833612493255</id><published>2008-03-21T22:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-21T22:26:23.966-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Grief's a bitch</title><content type='html'>There's this thing with grief. It doesn't really go away completely. Oh, it lessens, sure, how much really depends on the kind of grief and what you're grieving, but it does lessen to some extent. And as time passes the episodes of intense grief space out. They still come and are usually just as intense as if the grief was fresh, but the time between them lengthens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today grief came right up and bit me in the ass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7421341833612493255?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7421341833612493255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7421341833612493255&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7421341833612493255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7421341833612493255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/griefs-bitch.html' title='Grief&apos;s a bitch'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-690652343484675483</id><published>2008-03-20T16:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T16:55:40.554-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Banned from soft surfaces</title><content type='html'>So I'm not allowed to sit on soft chairs or couches for a little while. That's a sucky deal. You see I've been at the gym pretty hard core for a couple of weeks now, as in five or six times a week, trying to train for this 5k run in May. My times have been getting better and life is wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First on Monday my ankle was SUPER sore when I stopped running. Like, so sore that I almost couldn't put weight on it. But you know me, I run through it. The next day, it was ok, but when I was running, again it hurt really badly. Again, just ran through it. By Wednesday I could barely walk.  You see, when something is injured, you have to adjust so that you can still run, if you are determined to run. So the sore ankle in turn produced very sore calves, hips and suddenly a very sore knee. The strangest thing about this all was that it was all on the right side of my body. The healthy side. Any major injuries I've had have been to the left side of me, ankle, knee, collarbone, fingers, etc. The right side, while being far from perfect, remained relatively healthy (except for my knee).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So suddenly the right side decided it needs some attention. So whatever, muscle pain in my legs I can handle. It goes away. I can run through that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except my knee kept getting worse to the point where I can't really bend it back properly. And then my back had to make it's presence known. (As I write this, I feel like I am 80 years old with all of my ailments). So my back. It's always been weak, because I have an abnormal joint in my pelvis and I also damaged a disk on my L4 vertebrae. Sometimes when I walk (usually when something is wrong, as I am learning) my lower back clicks. Actually, it's kind of like bones grinding together, producing a clicking feeling. Not pleasant.  So today the pain kicked in and I finally dragged myself to the chiropractor. The verdict: pelvis joints not wroking properly. They're stuck somehow. The treatment: No running and no sitting on soft chairs or couches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Boo-urns.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-690652343484675483?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/690652343484675483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=690652343484675483&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/690652343484675483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/690652343484675483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/banned-from-soft-surfaces.html' title='Banned from soft surfaces'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3756956535364586553</id><published>2008-03-19T08:43:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T08:53:39.581-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost. Over.</title><content type='html'>I'm. Almost. Done. Ugggggghhhhhhh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That about sums it up, folks. By next Monday I will be finished my major projects for the semester. Praise. The. Lord. However, before then I actually have to do the work. Dang. I have to write two short sermons (which I hope to do today) and a major research paper on psychology and evil (which I haven't exactly started so much). These things are all due on Monday. The sermons will be done by then for sure, because really, I don't actually have a choice, I must preach them that day. But we will see about the research paper. I'm hoping to get it done. But I make no promises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Procrastination is a killer. It used to be, in my previous undergraduate years, that I would kind of put things off, but they would always get done on time. Even if I had been really bad with procrastinating, I was never super stressed out because I knew things would all get finished. Then I went to CMU, had a killer year in which nearly everything in my second semester was handed in late and suddenly I realized that I am capable of procrastinating on things to the point where they cannot possibly get finished on time. This year I have been very diligent in getting my work done, sometimes even early! Then I went away for reading week and everything went to pot. I can't find an ounce of motivation in my body. As I write this, I am keenly aware that I am rambling just to put off writing my sermons. I went to bed at 10:00 last night just so I didn't have to try to make myself do homework. I finally got up at 8 this morning when the guilty feelings wouldn't let me sleep anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loathe writing papers. If all I ever had to do was read, I would be a terrific student. Someday I hope to get a doctorate. The writing involved there is going to kill me I think. That is, if I survive the rest of this week...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3756956535364586553?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3756956535364586553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3756956535364586553&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3756956535364586553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3756956535364586553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/almost-over.html' title='Almost. Over.'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-1501902599185777611</id><published>2008-03-14T15:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T15:59:03.738-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Say No</title><content type='html'>No. I'm not writing a paper right now. I don't wanna. So I'm just not doing it, ok? Oh, I feel so guilty. I really need to write a paper. But I &lt;em&gt;sooooo&lt;/em&gt; don't wanna.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone want to come distract me???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-1501902599185777611?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/1501902599185777611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=1501902599185777611&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1501902599185777611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/1501902599185777611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/just-say-no.html' title='Just Say No'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2741965492705823874</id><published>2008-03-10T22:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T22:51:37.725-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Rant</title><content type='html'>So I've been mentally making a list of everything that confuses/annoys me about people at the gym. The time has come to blog that list. Now, I try not to judge people. When I see people at the gym, I tend to think, "well great, at least they're at the gym! Good for them!" but there are some things that are just so retarded that I must vent about them. Here goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that confuse/annoy me about people at the gym:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- girls who workout while wearing a thong. I can't think of anything more uncomfortable. **This is something that I would have to notice in the locker room I guess, but it still applies. And no I am not purposely looking at other girls, you sickos, you just see things sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;- girls who swim for exercise in a bikini. I'm sorry, but there's just not a lot of support in a bikini. Put on a one-piece to swim laps, would you?&lt;br /&gt;-people who don't observe time limits on the cardio machines. Do you realize that if you don't end on time you start a domino effect of disaster? Because then I can't start on time which means either I don't end on time and thus screw over the next person or I don't get to finish my workout. And then I am really pissed.&lt;br /&gt;- running as fast as you possibly can on the treadmill (or hiking at the steepes incline) &lt;em&gt;while holding onto the handlebars&lt;/em&gt;. This does not actually do you any good. If you cannot exercise your whole body weight at that intensity, then decrease the intensity.&lt;br /&gt;- people who come to the gym in every day clothes. Like jeans. And studded belts. Gosh.&lt;br /&gt;- people who come to the gym in flip-flops. What the hell do you think you are going to be able to do in flip-flops? GOSH.&lt;br /&gt;- old men who wear shorts that are so short that they leave little to the imagination.&lt;br /&gt;- people who sit idly on exercise equipment and proceed to text people on their cell phones. What did you come to the gym for, people??&lt;br /&gt;- people who run with their arms down at their sides as though they are carrying suitcases. I'm no running expert, but even I would say that's bad form!&lt;br /&gt;- people who choose the "forrest walk" program on the treadmill. Get off my f-ing treadmill. Go home. You'll burn more calories cleaning your house. Forrest walk, my ass...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2741965492705823874?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2741965492705823874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2741965492705823874&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2741965492705823874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2741965492705823874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/rant.html' title='A Rant'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7126131735339918399</id><published>2008-03-07T14:44:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T15:07:36.461-06:00</updated><title type='text'>How to Date Your Best Friend</title><content type='html'>What follows in this blog may sounds strange to those of you who have never had a similar experience. It will also sound strange to the male gender because it turns out they experience friendships very differently from us women. Anyways, this is the story of my best friend Joelle and I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This friendship was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;orchestrated&lt;/span&gt; in heaven. That is the only way to describe it, honestly. These kinds of relationships cannot be forced, they are truly a gift from God. Joelle and I were acquaintances through friends from church. We knew each other but not well. In January 2006 we both went on a college and career retreat with church. I couldn't tell you how or when it happened, but that weekend we became &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;inseparable&lt;/span&gt;. What followed looked very much like a dating relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are not homosexual, I feel like I should clarify that. Nor are we bisexual. Just to be clear. This was like a dating relationship, but it wasn't. Again, just to be clear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joelle and I had our first date at the cheap seats. We went to see Failure to Launch. It was pretty funny. As we were leaving we noticed that The Family Stone was playing in just over an hour. We went across the street for coffee at Starbucks and came back to watch the second movie. It was wonderful. We never ran out of things to talk about and we laughed until our sides hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that we went everywhere together. You know how when you are dating someone you never have to worry about having to go somewhere alone? That's what this was like. Everyone knew that where one of us would be, the other would be as well. We never went anywhere separately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how when you start dating someone you see them to the exclusion of everyone else? That was us. We were enamoured with each other. We didn't need to hang out with anyone else. We were all we needed. I was at her house or she was at mine basically every day. One night it snowed a couple of millimeters. I declared myself snowed in and we spent the night and the next day giggling and being stupid. She dated a guy for a few months and I didn't care, I hung out with them anyways. Awkward you think? Yes, but not for the reasons you might think. The guy once commented to Joelle that he felt like the third wheel with us. Hah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We couldn't wait to bring the other one home to meet the family. I don't exactly remember when this happened but it was fun. We spent more time at Joelle's parent's house because she tended to go home more often and I became just another daughter. I love her family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We used to laugh and joke that if neither of us ever got married we would get "knocked up" and raise our kids together. (It was a joke, don't worry, Mom.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joelle got married six months ago. She found the most wonderful man for her and I am so happy for her. But I do miss her. They live out of town now and I don't get to see her nearly as much. I cried for a week after her wedding. Not because I was sad she was married, I just felt like I had lost my best friend much too soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She came over last night and we spent the evening like in the old days. We cuddled up on the couch and reminisced about our "dating days" as we like to call them. I was just reminded about how fortunate I am to have been blessed with a best friend like her. Someone who is as in love with me as I am with her. We have never fought, we have never grown tired of each other's company, and the infatuation has never faded. She is my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, God, for my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R9Gt6xXKBCI/AAAAAAAAACk/k7-E34MOxuU/s1600-h/33.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175108672019891234" style="WIDTH: 244px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 318px" height="303" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R9Gt6xXKBCI/AAAAAAAAACk/k7-E34MOxuU/s320/33.JPG" width="241" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is us on her wedding day. The way we are laughing at each other sums up our entire relationship.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7126131735339918399?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7126131735339918399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7126131735339918399&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7126131735339918399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7126131735339918399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-to-date-your-best-friend.html' title='How to Date Your Best Friend'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R9Gt6xXKBCI/AAAAAAAAACk/k7-E34MOxuU/s72-c/33.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4990585030526844427</id><published>2008-03-03T21:38:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-03T22:41:59.235-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring on the Wine</title><content type='html'>Allow me to tell you about my day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started off rough. I woke up relatively early (before 8) because the sun was shining rather brightly into my room, thus waking me up from a delightful sleep. Alas, that sunshine is deceiving. It was actually -30 today. Where did the warmer weather go I would like to ask?&lt;br /&gt;H'anyways, I woke up not feeling well at all. I have been down all weekend with a cold. Saturday turned into a retreat of silence for me as my darling voice decided to up and leave for awhile. Sunday I felt marginally better but this morning it seemed as though I had been hit by a truck. I was stuffed up, croaky and feeling quite miserable. But do you think I could fall back asleep? Of course not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually I got up and took a shower which made me feel marginally better. I made myself a Chocolatey Royale SlimFast shake for breakfast and took it into my room. I wanted to sit down on my bed and drink my breakfast whilst reviewing my notes for the sermon I needed to preach later in class. I set my shake on the nightstand. I went to move something else on the nightstand. That something else fell from my hand, hit my Chocolatey Royale SlimFast shake, causing it to twirl gracefully whilst spewing half its contents onto my alarm clock, nightstand, wall, pillows and carpet. Shit. Pardon the french.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cleaned it up but I sure wished I could have gone back to bed and started the day over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to nap. Twice. And failed. Twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I preached my sermon. Which actually went very well. I think. My prof offered me (and a few others) the opportunity to write two homilies and record them for a well know Christian radio talk show. I felt very honored. I don't know if I will do it, but I feel honored nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a chance to hang out with my friend Jennalene. She fed me an amazing supper. It was lovely. In the course of our visit I decided I didn't feel like going to my evening class. I felt guilty of course. Actually as I left her house and walked toward the building, I decided that I should really go to class. But I decided that I would first go to Starbucks and reward myself for actually going to my class. I got into my car. And I ended up at home. With a DQ Blizzard in my hand. Not quite sure how that happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I just came home and relaxed. Which is nice when you feel as crappy as I currently do. I had a candlelight bubble bath with a deliciouss glass of wine (which has served not only to make me drowsy but also to plug up "by dose.") Lovely. I'm calling it a day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4990585030526844427?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4990585030526844427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4990585030526844427&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4990585030526844427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4990585030526844427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/03/bring-on-wine.html' title='Bring on the Wine'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-646379516603958069</id><published>2008-02-29T15:13:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T15:15:31.095-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Doc Said So</title><content type='html'>I have a sore throat. I happened to be at the doctor today for something completely unrelated and got her to check my throat, seeing as I was already there and everything. She said it's just a cold (which I figured).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said to rest. So I am going to take a nap and put off writing my sermon even more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She also said to drink lots of fluids. So I had a Caramel Frappuccino from Starbucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-646379516603958069?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/646379516603958069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=646379516603958069&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/646379516603958069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/646379516603958069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/doc-said-so.html' title='The Doc Said So'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-7858171258369594731</id><published>2008-02-28T21:34:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T21:47:37.772-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thursday Thirteen</title><content type='html'>I'm going to take a stab at a Thursday Thirteen. I figure it's a good way for people to find out a little bit more about me. So here we go: Thirteen Random Facts About Dana&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I have a freckle on my right eye. I know, freaky right?&lt;br /&gt;2. I hate gum. Like I mean really hate it. It's disgusting and should be illegal.&lt;br /&gt;3. Closely related, I hate mint. Anything mint makes my stomach churn.&lt;br /&gt;4. Again closely related, toothpaste grosses me out. I use it, but I hate it.(Both because it is mint and it's paste. Paste is gross).&lt;br /&gt;5. I make really good scrambled eggs. Like, really good.&lt;br /&gt;6. I was 23 inches long at birth. I basically came out a toddler. Could explain why I am 6 feet tall today.&lt;br /&gt;7. Even though I grew up on a farm I would fail at the game "Name that crop." And no I cannot throw hay bales. I am far too weak.&lt;br /&gt;8. I am extremely double jointed. Especially in my fingers.&lt;br /&gt;9. I sneeze all the time. How annoying.&lt;br /&gt;10. I am the youngest of three but I'm the tallest one of us all.&lt;br /&gt;11. I'm still pretty afraid of the dark. Don't ever take me to a wooded park at night. It's not fun.&lt;br /&gt;12. I can't cross my eyes. It really hurts.&lt;br /&gt;13. My life goal was to be the first female player in the NBA. Then they started the WNBA.  Stupid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-7858171258369594731?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/7858171258369594731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=7858171258369594731&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7858171258369594731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/7858171258369594731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/thursday-thirteen.html' title='Thursday Thirteen'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8640794300826494231</id><published>2008-02-26T21:46:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T21:50:45.650-06:00</updated><title type='text'>In Living Color</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R8TdQcNSSCI/AAAAAAAAACU/x8J7Bk3bLhY/s1600-h/Minneapolis+064.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171501546647734306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R8TdQcNSSCI/AAAAAAAAACU/x8J7Bk3bLhY/s320/Minneapolis+064.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a little bit in love with this man. It's Jarome Iginla for those of you who don't follow hockey. I saw the Flames play in Minneapolis this past weekend and it was approximately the greatest afternoon of my life. We had crappy seats that were behind the highest point of the nose bleeds, but we decided to look for seats in the lower bowl and managed to watch the entire game from the 12th row. It was unbelievable. Those would have been very expensive tickets and we sat there for $40. Anyways, I feel as though my life dreams have been fulfilled now. I have been in the same building as Jarom Iginla. Nothing left to live for or accomplish. Just kidding, I'm not really that pathetic. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By the way, the Flames won. It was fantastic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8640794300826494231?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8640794300826494231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8640794300826494231&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8640794300826494231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8640794300826494231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/in-living-color.html' title='In Living Color'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R8TdQcNSSCI/AAAAAAAAACU/x8J7Bk3bLhY/s72-c/Minneapolis+064.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-723240831991930717</id><published>2008-02-22T10:25:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T10:25:43.311-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm off to Minneapolis to see the Flames play. So long, suckas!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-723240831991930717?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/723240831991930717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=723240831991930717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/723240831991930717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/723240831991930717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/im-off-to-minneapolis-to-see-flames.html' title=''/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5120770938194505455</id><published>2008-02-20T20:10:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T00:39:51.969-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Love List</title><content type='html'>Janessa gave me this idea. She said whenever you had a bad day, just make a list of things you love and it will be impossible to be sad. And I liked that. Well my day today was just fine, but I like thinking about the things that I really love. I have no idea how long this list will be, but I'll keep going until I can't think of any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Caleb - this is my nephew who will turn 2 in June. He is the cutest toddler around. At Christmas I cuddled up to him on the couch and we watched Toy Story 2. Twice. It melted my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Hannah - she's my neice and is 3 months old. She is just so pretty and soft and wonderful. She has this serious little frown like she's really pondering everything she's experienced in her short life. She's going to be a philosopher I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Music - I love singing but even more I love listening to great artists. I'm an ok singer, but I'd never make it as a musician so I just live vicariously through great singers! Lately the artists that have really been making my heart smile are Colbie Caillat and Sara Bareilles. They are fantastic. And honestly, John Mayer and Michael Buble always make my heart smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The Calgary Flames - I grew up in southern Alberta, so it's part of my DNA to love the Flames. Except I'm a little bit fanatical about them. I am in love with Jarome Iginla. His wife is a lucky woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Double Lolly suckers - just a good old fashioned candy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Hot drinks - I thought of listing them all seperately, but that would be extensive. Here's a few: hot apple cider, earl grey tea, london fogs, chai lattes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Beer - honestly. Maybe it's gross or unclassy for a girl to like beer, but honestly, a cold beer on a hot day? So good. And I really don't drink it very often because I am far too poor/cheap but a nice MGD? Mmmm....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Driving - Is it weird that I listed it after beer? DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE. EVER. But I really enjoy driving. I have a hard time letting other people drive my car...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Counseling - I have discovered my passion! I am taking counseling courses right now and I just love it. It's is challenging and terrifying and stimulating and I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Kissing - do I really need to explain that? It's fun. Let's leave it there. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not a promiscuous kisser. Kissing is fun within a healthy relationship. Oh boy. This is just going downhill. Stop, Dana, just stop)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Being in love - I miss it. I'm not gonna lie. I'm good at being in love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. One on one conversations with friends - this is where the good stuff of friendships is formed. It's a fantastic way to get to know someone and to truly hear who they are, if you just listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Joelle - my bestest best friend of my entire life. She's married now and lives a ways away and that isn't so cool. But I still love her and she makes my heart smile every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. God - this list is obviously not in order of how important these things are to me. Like my profile says, God sustains me, His grace overwhelms me and His love melts me. He is my Life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Books - there is nothing like curling up with a good book, especially on a rainy or snowy day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. My bed - I just really love my bed. It's so warm and comfy. I wish I could spend a lot more time in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Babies - I LOVE babies. The infant stage is my absolute favorite. I wish they could just stay cute, cuddly babies forever. But no...they have to grow up and learn how to ask "why?" and proceed to ask it over and over and over&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. My parents - they've become my friends and I like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Weddings - I like being in love so it makes sense that I would like weddings. I just love the prettiness of everything and the celebration of love. I think it's fantastic and special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Water - I'm addicted to water. There's nothing better than a glass of cold water. Not even a cold beer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Horses - I have loved them my entire life. One day I do truly want to own one. Or two or three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. Traveling - I'm not very good at the physical part of traveling. I'm pretty impatient and I just want to &lt;em&gt;be there already&lt;/em&gt;. But I love visiting new places and seeing the history and beauty everywhere. I need to travel some more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. Photography - I'd like to take a class or two, just learn how to take better pictures. But I really love photography.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. Wendy's Honey Mustard sauce - it just tastes really good. Actually food should really be on this list because I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. Candles - so relaxing. Especially when combined with a hot drink and a bubble bath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright, that list is longer than I anticipated. I have to stop. I'm sure I could come up with plenty more but I have to stop. But I'm in a really good mood now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5120770938194505455?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5120770938194505455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5120770938194505455&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5120770938194505455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5120770938194505455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-love-list.html' title='My Love List'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-4548534215321402176</id><published>2008-02-19T19:05:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T19:15:48.251-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Diamonds are a girl's best friend...</title><content type='html'>So today I was at work and this is the conversation I had with a little old man:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little old man: "Has no one bought you a 2-carat diamond ring yet?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Nope, not yet. Maybe someday."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little old man: "Well, why not?!?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "I don't know! You'll have to ask them!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little old man: "Well!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Are you going to buy me a 2-carat diamond ring?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little old man: "Well, I don't have one with me.  And I only come in twice a year, so maybe next time!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Well, alright, I'll look forward to it." &lt;em&gt;I didn't have the heart to tell him that I handed in my resignation today and as of May 2 I will no longer be there.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I had a good chuckle over that. And really, what a compliment! This little old man couldn't figure out why someone hadn't scooped me up and married me yet! Well, I can't figure it out either! I'm pretty fantastic! ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha, anyways, if anyone wants to buy me a 2-carat diamond ring they are more than welcome to. I'd settle for 1-carat, I guess. But no less...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-4548534215321402176?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/4548534215321402176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=4548534215321402176&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4548534215321402176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/4548534215321402176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/diamonds-are-girls-best-friend.html' title='Diamonds are a girl&apos;s best friend...'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5600751936998346016</id><published>2008-02-16T17:12:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T17:14:18.179-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A must-read</title><content type='html'>I would like to highly recommend the book &lt;em&gt;The Shack&lt;/em&gt; by William Young to everyone. This book will entirely change how you view God and His relationship to us. Check it out at &lt;a href="http://www.theshackbook.com/"&gt;www.theshackbook.com&lt;/a&gt;. Let me know what you think.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5600751936998346016?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5600751936998346016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5600751936998346016&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5600751936998346016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5600751936998346016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/must-read.html' title='A must-read'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5827969820345286101</id><published>2008-02-13T21:45:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T21:47:00.880-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I live in a friggin' deep freeze</title><content type='html'>I think that by this point, even Hell has frozen over.  Why again do I live here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't feel my toes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5827969820345286101?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5827969820345286101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5827969820345286101&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5827969820345286101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5827969820345286101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-live-in-friggin-deep-freeze.html' title='I live in a friggin&apos; deep freeze'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8221297562962938614</id><published>2008-02-12T21:09:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T21:36:46.751-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Shameless Plug for Counseling</title><content type='html'>Hi, my name is Dana and I am in counseling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phew, I'm glad that's off my chest. How many of us are ashamed to admit that we can't necessarily deal with everything on our own, raise you hands. Why is it it that to admit that you are seeing a counselor is so scary? Do we think people will judge us? Will people automatically assume that I am suicidal or mentally ill? If they, they are stupid-heads. That's right, I called them stupid-heads. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started therapy in october. The original plan was to talk to a counselor so I could try to figure out if I should break up with Justin or not. Then we suddenly broke up a little earlier than I expected and I already had an appointment for a few days later and it worked out very well, all things considered. To have that kind of support for those dark weeks was crucial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we stopped for the Christmas break I was doing really well and didn't really feel the need to continue after school started again. But the past month has been extremely rough (Justin is now dating someone new...how fantastic is that??) and I figured it couldn't hurt to go back. It took awhile to get back in because of weather issues and vacation disruptions but today I saw my counselor again and I came out with just this huge sense of relief. Do you realize how relieving it is  to have someone accept what you say with zero criticism? To have someone say, "You know what Dana, you have a right to be angry. You have been used by someone whom you thought loved you. It's ok to be hurt and it's ok to be angry right now." Do you know how healing that is? Especially when other people what to push their agenda for healing on you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone deserves to be listened to without judgment. Perhaps this is why I am so excited to become a counselor. People are almost never just listened to. We are naturally terrible listeners. You might think you are a great listener but really you're not. I've always been told I'm a good listener. Really, I suck. Think about it. How many times has a friend said to you, "This is what I am going through and it sucks" and you said "Oh yeah, the same thing happened to me, blah, blah, blah..." You've just turned the conversation around to focus on you. It's no longer about your hurting friend. It's ok, we all do it, I do it, don't feel too bad. But it's not really listening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In counseling you get listened to. You have a specific amount of time that is just about you and what you are dealing with. How fantastic is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to give some advice to people who encounter those who are hurting. It could be something that you think is minor, like a breakup (and sometimes breakups are minor, but sometimes they are not. Learn to know the difference)  or trouble at work or it could be something devastating, like the loss of a spouse or a child. Whether it is minor or major to you DOES NOT MATTER. You are not the one feeling the acute pain of the situation. The best thing you can do for your friend or family member is &lt;em&gt;accept what they are feeling as valid&lt;/em&gt;. It might not be the way you would deal with it, you might not think that everything they are feeling/thinking is rational, &lt;em&gt;it doesn't matter because in reality, it is what they are feeling and NOTHING you say will change that&lt;/em&gt;. See what often people don't realize is that a shattered person is doing the best he or she can. Given their genetic makeup, their life experiences, the coping strategies learned, he or she is &lt;em&gt;doing the best they can&lt;/em&gt;. I am doing the best that I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So just listen. Accept what they say and feel. You don't have to agree or approve, just accept it. If you find that you are unable to do that for someone, don't try to be the one they lean on in times of suffering. That job will have to belong to someone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're hurting and you aren't finding anyone who will just listen, find a counselor. They'll listen. And they'll care.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8221297562962938614?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8221297562962938614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8221297562962938614&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8221297562962938614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8221297562962938614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/shameless-plug-for-counseling.html' title='A Shameless Plug for Counseling'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2084601510370704435</id><published>2008-02-07T16:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T16:34:58.141-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Lent!</title><content type='html'>I thought I would write about Lent today. The Lenten season started yesterday and I think that there are a lot of misconceptions about it. I had a friend ask me if I was Catholic because I was observing Lent. I chuckled initially, but then I realized that Lent is not something everyone knows about.  And to be honest, I don't think I really heard about it until Bible school when a lot of my friends gave up chocoloate for a long long time. I don't remember hearing about Lent in my church in Coaldale growing up. That doesn't mean that they never said anything about it, I just don't remember. And even in Bible school I don't know if I truly understood it. To be perfectly honest, this is the first year I've made myself care about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lent is a forty-day preparation before Easter. It is in observation of the the forty days Jesus spent in the desert being tempted by Satan. It's usually a time when Christians spend time abstaining (traditionally from food) and in prayer, offering themselves in repentance and atonement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of people give up a certain food group. I've chosen to give up Facebook. To me, the idea of Lent is giving up something in my life that is impacting my relationship with God. And lately, that's been Facebook. I've checked it obsessively, over and over again, why? I'm not really sure. It's really not that interesting. I waste a lot of time on there. Time where I should be doing homework or time when I should be talking to God. I've felt him prompting me to spend time with him and I would put it off and waste a lot of time on that stupid website. So I decided to give it up for forty days, hopefully it will break this obsession I have and the idea is that I will replace that time with time spent with God. That's really the idea behind any kind of fasting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2084601510370704435?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2084601510370704435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2084601510370704435&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2084601510370704435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2084601510370704435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/lent.html' title='Lent!'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3912891769389803803</id><published>2008-02-06T09:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T09:12:59.351-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My heart is heavy these days and I am getting tired of it. I can't seem to let go of the anger and hurt. I've had multiple friends tell me it took them over a year to stop hurting from a breakup. That does little to make me smile. That means I have another 8 months of this. I pray that I don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still know that God is in control, but right now the anger is burning so high in me that I can barely hear his voice. He has promised me joy and peace. But I want it now. If I knew how bad breaking up would be, I'm not sure I would have ever dated him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was blog-stalking the other day and stumbled across this. I don't know whose &lt;a href="http://breisconfused.blogspot.com/"&gt;blog&lt;/a&gt; this is, but I liked this poem or whatever you want to call it. The author is unknown, but they have my thanks anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In “pastures green?” Not always; sometimes He&lt;br /&gt;Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me&lt;br /&gt;In weary ways, where heavy shadows be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And by “still waters”? No, not always so;&lt;br /&gt;Oft times the heavy tempests round me blow,&lt;br /&gt;And o’er my soul the waves and billows go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when the storm beats loudest, and I cry&lt;br /&gt;Aloud for help, the Master standeth by,&lt;br /&gt;And whispers to my soul, “Lo, it is I.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, where He leads me, I can safely go,&lt;br /&gt;And in the blest hereafter I shall know,&lt;br /&gt;Why, in His wisdom, He hath led me so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3912891769389803803?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3912891769389803803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3912891769389803803&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3912891769389803803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3912891769389803803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-heart-is-heavy-these-days-and-i-am.html' title=''/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-9142701302826436616</id><published>2008-01-30T13:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-30T13:25:25.933-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Art of Napping</title><content type='html'>I am a napper. I love to nap. I have for years. It gets around to 1:00 in the afternoon and my eyelids start drooping. No matter where I am. In class, at work, sitting on my couch watching tv, I start to fade.  All I want is to lie down and drift away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Napping becomes a habit. That's how I survived college. We never went to bed before 1 am, so I napped all the time. It was the worst when the next semester I would suddenly have a class during my regular nap time and I started to doze in class...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The life of a student allows for napping. I am always home during the day to nap at some point and it is wonderful. I don't take this privilege for granted either. I cherish it. I have worked full-time for a few years. I know that I can't nap. So I am thouroughly enjoying my last year of being able to nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am also a long napper. I am not one of those subscribers to "cat-naps". It used to be that if I didn't have at least two hours, I didn't even bother laying down. I've gotten a bit better now. I usually don't nap for more than an hour now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I had a wonderful nap on my living room floor (my new favorite place to nap). It wasn't one of those naps where I was dead to the world, rather I was in and out of consciousness, thinking about things, not worrying, just contemplating. My body was perfectly relaxed, comfortable and warm.  I lay there for just over an hour. I would have stayed there all day if I could have. Naps like that make life good. Naps like that make my heart happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heart naps.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-9142701302826436616?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/9142701302826436616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=9142701302826436616&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/9142701302826436616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/9142701302826436616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/01/art-of-napping.html' title='The Art of Napping'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-8080899931719029868</id><published>2008-01-23T11:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T12:09:50.722-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings from a Healing Heart</title><content type='html'>I am supposed to be writing a paper on prayer right now. Obviously it is going well...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm having a hard time with blogging these days. There are a lot of things going on in my mind that I want to write about, that I want to confess, that I want to discuss, but the blogger world is so unknown and a bit scary. You never know who is reading these things. I feel a need to censor what I say and perhaps that's not a bad thing. I've been going through so much emotional stuff lately with the breakup but feel like it's hard to really talk about on here because I really want to respect Justin and our privacy. I don't ever want it to seem like I am bashing him or what we had together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All that to say, I need to write some stuff out and I will do my best to continue respecting everyone involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had a very hard time letting go of our relationship. My head and my heart don't do a very good job of communicating with each other (I don't know if this is normal or if most people can get their hearts and their heads on the same page??). I know in my head the reasons that we broke up and I know in my head that they are good reasons. I know in my head that God is calling our lives in very different directions and I know in my head that God has big plans for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart doesn't get any of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart just kept saying, "but what if love really &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; enough?", "but what if we really could make it work?", "but what if God is now telling us to get back together?", "but what if...?", "but what if...?", "but &lt;em&gt;what if...?????&lt;/em&gt;" "But what ifs..." suck. "But what ifs..." don't represent reality. The reality is, we broke up because that's what God wanted us to do and God has something different for both of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found a verse in Deuteronomy that talks about obeying God's voice and His promise of faithfulness as we walk through all that entails. The exact verse is Deut. 4:31 if you want to look it up, but I paraphrased it (a very cool prayer approach that you should really try) into what God has been saying to me through it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dana, if you look for God, if you search for Him with all your heart and soul, with a genuine desire for His presence, you &lt;strong&gt;will&lt;/strong&gt; find Him. When your heart is broken, when life seems to be crumbling and you are so shattered that you can't even find the pieces anymore, return to the Lord. Crawl to the Father and listen for His voice. And when you hear that voice Dana and you obey it, you have done well in your Father's eyes. Your God is one of mercy and love! He has promised you and all people before you to be the strength in your weakness. You have obeyed His voice and he will not abandon you or let you be destroyed in the aftermath. He is merciful!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God has certainly been the strength in my weakness in the past three months. I don't know how I would have had the strength to continue facing the storm if I didn't believe that He was in control and that He has good things in store for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Awhile ago I was wallowing in my pain and my anger towards God and somehow through the wall I had worked so hard to build that morning, God said to me "Do you believe that I can heal this hurt?" Tears rushed to my eyes as I said, "I really need you to Lord. I can't do this much longer." And He replied, "I feel this hurt too, you know. Everything that wounds you, wounds me too, that's how close I am holding you to me. I created you and I love you and I want you to be whole. Do you trust me to heal this hurt?" And because I am so weary of the fight, and so tired of standing in the pain and so shattered some days that I can't find the pieces, all I could say back to Him was, "Yes. I believe."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes. I believe." Some days those words come so much easier than others. Today they come easier than they did even two days ago. Justin and I are broken up. We are not getting back together. We are not able to remain friends (that's another thing! How in the world do people stay friends with their ex? I don't actually think it's possible.) It's time to really let go of whatever hope my heart has been trying to hold onto. It's not easy but it is getting easier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Near the beginning of this whole journey, God continually brought the song "Be Still and Know" into my head. It became my prayer as I journeyed through some of the darkest days I have experienced yet.  For the first long time all I could do was imagine myself laying in the embrace of Jesus as he sang my pain away, "&lt;em&gt;Be still and know that I am God&lt;/em&gt;". Again and again I crawled back to His arms to have Him sing me to sleep with that.  As I gained more clarity about what had happened and recognized that this pain was not going away as quickly as I would have liked, He promised to me over and over again, "&lt;em&gt;I am the Lord that healeth thee&lt;/em&gt;". This is an ongoing promise. I still need to be reminded of it quite often. And just now I am starting to be able to sing back to Him &lt;em&gt;"In Thee Oh Lord I put my trust"&lt;/em&gt;. My trust falters often. And that's when I crawl back into Jesus' arms and He sings again "&lt;em&gt;Be still and know that I am God&lt;/em&gt;".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-8080899931719029868?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/8080899931719029868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=8080899931719029868&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8080899931719029868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/8080899931719029868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/01/ramblings-from-healing-heart.html' title='Ramblings from a Healing Heart'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-5333446191975923340</id><published>2008-01-21T19:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T19:31:16.346-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Life is such a roller coaster</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R5VDChg0FVI/AAAAAAAAAA0/QImjIGcoQVs/s1600-h/Michael+Buble+017.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158102658857571666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R5VDChg0FVI/AAAAAAAAAA0/QImjIGcoQVs/s320/Michael+Buble+017.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This man is amazing. I have no words to even describe how phenomenol the concert was, so I will just let you look at him and dream about how incredible he is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I listened to his CD today in the car. And I smiled because my heart is happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In response to my last post, I am feeling much better. Lots has happened since then and the relationship is very much over and I suppose that that's the healthiest thing for now.  It makes me sad that it ended the way it did, but I can finally let go and move on. It's about time. I've learned a lot about who I am, I don't like all of it, but as Janessa says, it's an opportunity to pick myself up and try again. I've failed once, that doesn't mean I will fail at life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-5333446191975923340?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/5333446191975923340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=5333446191975923340&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5333446191975923340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/5333446191975923340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/01/life-is-such-roller-coaster.html' title='Life is such a roller coaster'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Niv3Ij6vl2E/R5VDChg0FVI/AAAAAAAAAA0/QImjIGcoQVs/s72-c/Michael+Buble+017.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3074511431613331741</id><published>2008-01-15T17:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-15T18:08:39.615-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Hurt</title><content type='html'>I hurt and when I hurt, I hurt people. This past weekend was very painful and difficult for me and without going into detail, I will just say that I came home very hurt and extremely angry. Here's the problem: When I am angry, I do not wait a day or two to calm down before I confront the source of my anger. I go in like a raging bull. Now in this circumstance I believe I had a right to be hurt and angry but I did not handle it well. I said things intentionally to hurt the other person and this is killing me. I have expressed my sorrow over what I did, but I know that there is still a lot of hurt and anger over what I said. This is killing me. It's not the first time I've done this, but I sure hope it's the last. Chalk this up to another goal for this year: Learn how to control my anger.  At this point I will make a horrible wife, friend, counselor, pastor, and person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone have any advice? Any words of comfort? Condemnation? It's not possible to feel worse about myself than I currently do, so don't hold back, people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3074511431613331741?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3074511431613331741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3074511431613331741&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3074511431613331741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3074511431613331741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-hurt.html' title='I Hurt'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-104163185007371591</id><published>2008-01-07T21:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T21:22:14.491-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe don't bring it on 2008</title><content type='html'>I think there is a possibility that I am taking on too much this year. I have so far been to three of my four classes for this semester and I am feeling more than overwhlemed about the course load. Every week I have 2-4 assignments due and it is slightly retarded. I am also preaching on Feb 3 and have a sermon to prepare (here's hoping that I can use that sermon for a practice sermon for my preaching class). I also have a summer internship to prepare for. I have also joined a discipleship group at church in which we are striving to live missionally in this world and committment is crucial. I am on the small groups committee at church and really want to devote some serious time to developing a good resource library for the program. I have a lot of friends and I want to spend time developing good relationships. I was planning on picking up Friday shifts at the credit union to make some extra money and plus last semester I had too much extra time to be depressed after Justin and I broke up. I don't think that will be a problem this semester, therefore I think we will 86 the extra shifts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh did I tell you that I joined the gym and am planning to run a 5k race on May 3?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I might be just a little bit crazy actually.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-104163185007371591?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/104163185007371591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=104163185007371591&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/104163185007371591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/104163185007371591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/01/maybe-dont-bring-it-on-2008.html' title='Maybe don&apos;t bring it on 2008'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-3986219144286325226</id><published>2008-01-03T23:11:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T23:16:29.179-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring It On 2008</title><content type='html'>Things that will happen in 2008 that terrify me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1- I will receive my BA in Biblical and Theological Studies&lt;br /&gt;2- I will preach at my church on Feb 3&lt;br /&gt;3- I will do a pastoral internship at my church in the summer&lt;br /&gt;4- I have no idea what I will be doing come fall&lt;br /&gt;5- God will use me&lt;br /&gt;6- I will grow&lt;br /&gt;7- The possibility of everything unexpected happening is highly likely&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that will happen in 2008 that excite me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1- I will receive my BA in Biblical and Theological Studies&lt;br /&gt;2- I will preach at my church on Feb 3 &lt;em&gt;(it's a bit tough to include this on this list)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3- I will do a pastoral internship at my church in the summer&lt;br /&gt;4- I have no idea what I will be doing come fall&lt;br /&gt;5- God will use me&lt;br /&gt;6- I will frow&lt;br /&gt;7- The possibility of everything unexpected happening is highly likely&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-3986219144286325226?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/3986219144286325226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=3986219144286325226&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3986219144286325226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/3986219144286325226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2008/01/bring-it-on-2008.html' title='Bring It On 2008'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27825581.post-2702740419588315661</id><published>2007-12-22T17:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-22T17:57:11.212-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Magical Grasshoppers</title><content type='html'>True Story. This summer we had a grasshopper infestation. They were mostly confined to the basement, however we found two upstairs in our living room. &lt;em&gt;Upstairs.&lt;/em&gt; I know that grasshoppers jump obviously, and that they would be able to find their way upstairs, but &lt;em&gt;how&lt;/em&gt; without us &lt;em&gt;noticing&lt;/em&gt;??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;H'anyways. For awhile we thought that the Meadowood boys had maybe gotten us back from when we turned their kitchen into a beach in summer by invading our house with grasshoppers. Alas, it was not them. We do not know how the grasshoppers got into our house. We do not know. It's disturbing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We thought the grasshopper infestation was over, seeing as it is &lt;em&gt;winter&lt;/em&gt;. Last night I went into my bedroom (which is upstairs by the way) and there was a grasshopper sitting on my floor. How did it get there and why is it there in winter?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grabbed a shoe and hit the grasshopper very hard. Then it &lt;em&gt;dissapeared.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; DISSAPEARED!&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I don't know where it went. It was not on the bottom of my shoe. It was not on the carpet. It was nowhere in the surrounding area. There is no way it survived the whack I gave it. So where did it go? I don't know and it is disturbing me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grasshoppers have magical powers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27825581-2702740419588315661?l=didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/feeds/2702740419588315661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27825581&amp;postID=2702740419588315661&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2702740419588315661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27825581/posts/default/2702740419588315661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didyounotgetthememo.blogspot.com/2007/12/magical-grasshoppers.html' title='Magical Grasshoppers'/><author><name>Dana</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14832243857082206707</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ul3FzhxInrU/TuNQ-6aoH8I/AAAAAAAAAL0/k3ZoYees7Ig/s220/Grand%2BBeach%2BFamily%2BHoliday%2B044.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
