<?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-21060261</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:14:39.415-08:00</updated><category term='Doesn&apos;t she just break your heart?'/><title type='text'>every day is a new day...</title><subtitle type='html'>Better than she was but not as good as she will be.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-802592246182519642</id><published>2007-06-18T18:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T19:53:11.164-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More Pictures</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc1aZp64FI/AAAAAAAAACY/9lKkNF6TAzY/s1600-h/100_0711.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc1aZp64FI/AAAAAAAAACY/9lKkNF6TAzY/s320/100_0711.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077585832563105874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Drank my fair share of Fanta and Coke.  Strangely enough, there is no Pepsi in Mozambique...They must be way smarter over there than North Americans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc0V5p64DI/AAAAAAAAACI/ig_lUMpoS2M/s1600-h/100_0662.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc0V5p64DI/AAAAAAAAACI/ig_lUMpoS2M/s320/100_0662.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077584655742066738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc0oJp64EI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-X3X9ircXTg/s1600-h/100_0663.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc0oJp64EI/AAAAAAAAACQ/-X3X9ircXTg/s320/100_0663.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077584969274679362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am sure you can figure out what this is...all part of the experience.  A little challenging to hit the hole for those of the fairer sex.  Just don't have the right equipment I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rncz05p64CI/AAAAAAAAACA/1EjIadojuKk/s1600-h/100_0781.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rncz05p64CI/AAAAAAAAACA/1EjIadojuKk/s320/100_0781.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077584088806383650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This tree was hugemungous!  One of the most amazing trees I have ever seen.  It was a wild fig tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnczdJp64BI/AAAAAAAAAB4/CKbtbWoG6a8/s1600-h/100_0679.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnczdJp64BI/AAAAAAAAAB4/CKbtbWoG6a8/s320/100_0679.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077583680784490514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just for size comparison, the bench on the left side was big enough to seat 4 to 5 people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-802592246182519642?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/802592246182519642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=802592246182519642&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/802592246182519642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/802592246182519642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/06/more-pictures.html' title='More Pictures'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rnc1aZp64FI/AAAAAAAAACY/9lKkNF6TAzY/s72-c/100_0711.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-5070710168994251057</id><published>2007-06-15T07:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T19:53:11.520-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Home again!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKna5p64AI/AAAAAAAAABw/JxYdpTlveWg/s1600-h/100_0759.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKna5p64AI/AAAAAAAAABw/JxYdpTlveWg/s320/100_0759.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076303810595053570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This little boy didn't get to go to school..he had to take care of cattle.  On this day he was standing off and watching the kids at the school as they were celebrating the "Day of the Child". We gave out candy and toys that day and we made sure that he didn't go without.  Just another one of the faces that will stick in my brain for some itme to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKmbpp63_I/AAAAAAAAABo/wjtaFWn0ghc/s1600-h/100_0678.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKmbpp63_I/AAAAAAAAABo/wjtaFWn0ghc/s320/100_0678.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076302723968327666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One of the many beautiful views I had the oppurtunity to see....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKkFpp63-I/AAAAAAAAABg/JxRX-nLV4_U/s1600-h/100_0768.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKkFpp63-I/AAAAAAAAABg/JxRX-nLV4_U/s320/100_0768.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076300146987950050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Let me introduce to you Marisha...This little girl caught my heart form the moment I first saw her.  What a beautiful smile!&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I am back from the land of Mozambique.  What a time it was and I find myself thinking more and more about it the longer I am away.  Wondering about the little ones that I saw in the clinic and the sick that came our way.  Life is so much harder over there and the availability of medical help is next to nothing.  Even the most basic of needs aren't met...basic by our standards that is.&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow I will post some of my pictures for the next while and tell you a little more...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-5070710168994251057?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/5070710168994251057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=5070710168994251057&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/5070710168994251057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/5070710168994251057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/06/home-again.html' title='Home again!'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RnKna5p64AI/AAAAAAAAABw/JxYdpTlveWg/s72-c/100_0759.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-473508139020647103</id><published>2007-05-05T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-05T08:09:16.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;embed allowScriptAccess="never" allowNetworking="internal"  enableJavaScript="false" src="http://dna.imagini.net/friends/swf/widget.swf"  quality="best" bgcolor="#590319" width="340"  height="240" name="widget" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"  pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"  flashvars="bgcolor=#590319&amp;i1=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_43E105EB.jpeg&amp;c1=&amp;i2=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_1D1068AF.jpeg&amp;c2=&amp;i3=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-2B750FCD.jpeg&amp;c3=&amp;i4=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_57EDBD35.jpeg&amp;c4=&amp;i5=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-177C0BDC.jpeg&amp;c5=&amp;i6=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-3A16A102.jpeg&amp;c6=&amp;i7=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-5BFB07FF.jpeg&amp;c7=&amp;i8=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-63B0E5ED.jpeg&amp;c8=&amp;i9=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_631B702E.jpeg&amp;c9=&amp;i10=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-45A19707.jpeg&amp;c10=&amp;i11=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_494EB337.jpeg&amp;c11=&amp;i12=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_1D28CE3C.jpeg&amp;c12=&amp;i13=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_5C1B12D6.jpeg&amp;c13=&amp;moodlabel=DREAMER&amp;lovelabel=LOVE BUG&amp;funlabel=ESCAPE ARTIST&amp;habitslabel=BACK TO BASICS&amp;uid=728792-5020&amp;srv=iwebhd3" &gt;&lt;/embed&gt; &lt;div style="text-align:center; width:340px;height:25px;margin-top:0px; border-top:1px solid rgb(150,150,150);background-color:rgb(0,0,0);padding:5px 0 0 0; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://networking.imagini.blueorange.co.uk/vdna.php?uid=728792-5020&amp;srv=iwebhd3" style="color:rgb(255,255,255)"&gt;Read my VisualDNA&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:10px;color:#cccccc"&gt;&amp;trade;&lt;/span&gt;     &lt;a href="http://imagini.net/friends/" style="color:rgb(255,255,255) "&gt;Get your own VisualDNA&amp;trade;&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/21060261-473508139020647103?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/473508139020647103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=473508139020647103&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/473508139020647103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/473508139020647103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/05/read-my-visualdna-get-your-own.html' title=''/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-6169804888623787</id><published>2007-04-21T17:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T07:21:41.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The End Is Near!</title><content type='html'>It is on an almost daily basis that I have people come up to me asking me if I am getting excited about the upcoming departure date.  They look with the expectation that I will reply with positive exhuberation.  I stand there and think about how I will tell them I can't wait and I am counting the days....but alas I cannot lie.  I stand there looking for intelligent words and they do not come.   I stand there  like a deer standing in the path of high beams in the darkest of nights.  The truth is that I am not excited about it due to the fact that my life has been so busy and full and will continue to be so until 3 days before derpature.  Basically I am too busy to put much thought into it.&lt;br /&gt;I know that I will have a good time when I get on the way.  I do look forward to being on the plane and kicking back.  No more preparation or fundraising.  That will be good!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-6169804888623787?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/6169804888623787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=6169804888623787&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/6169804888623787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/6169804888623787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/04/end-is-near.html' title='The End Is Near!'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-7649017457200617572</id><published>2007-03-09T17:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T19:53:11.689-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doesn&apos;t she just break your heart?'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RfIKLnPJgXI/AAAAAAAAABM/VdEeaqF5aLM/s1600-h/Silent+Auction.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RfIKLnPJgXI/AAAAAAAAABM/VdEeaqF5aLM/s400/Silent+Auction.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040102127608365426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RfIJsHPJgWI/AAAAAAAAABE/AH4oASJzUeo/s1600-h/Silent+Auction.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-7649017457200617572?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/7649017457200617572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=7649017457200617572&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/7649017457200617572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/7649017457200617572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/RfIKLnPJgXI/AAAAAAAAABM/VdEeaqF5aLM/s72-c/Silent+Auction.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-5602568375091814541</id><published>2007-02-28T18:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T19:53:11.853-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Faith of a Mustard Seed.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/ReZFAYinB5I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZkGXSP5ArW4/s1600-h/070_-_Mustard_Seed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/ReZFAYinB5I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZkGXSP5ArW4/s320/070_-_Mustard_Seed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036789106150410130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen a mustard seed before.  They are tiny.  Not much bigger than the size of a pin head.  And yet we are told in the bible if we muster the faith of a mustard seed we can do anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matt. 17:20&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;span id="en-NIV-23721" class="sup"&gt;20&lt;/span&gt;He replied, "Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I think considering the size of a mustard seed, finding this faith should be relatively easy, and yet it seems to be one of the hardest things to find at times.  At least for me that is.  I think that God knew that faith might be an issue for us.   If He would have told me that I needed the faith of a Rocky Mountain....I would know that it would never be an attainable thing for me.  But he told us that we needed only the faith of a tiny, itty, bitty mustard seed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am presently being challenge in the faith department.  Not the first time for me and I am confident that it will not be the last.  In the past, I have seen the impossible come true after having to exercise my faith muscles.  God is truly amazing and has shown me how faithful He is to me so many times.  With that said, you would think because I have seen the benifits of having faith in Him, it wouldn't be so difficult for me again...but it is.  Why is this I ask?  I am not really sure, but I do know that with practice it will become easier.  I also know that my God wants me to become proficient in the faith department and He will give me plenty of oppurtunities to get practice.  Maybe someday I will have enough faith to compare to the size of a mustard seed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-5602568375091814541?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/5602568375091814541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=5602568375091814541&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/5602568375091814541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/5602568375091814541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/02/faith-of-mustard-seed.html' title='Faith of a Mustard Seed.'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/ReZFAYinB5I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZkGXSP5ArW4/s72-c/070_-_Mustard_Seed.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-5214304745710182893</id><published>2007-02-28T18:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T19:53:12.122-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Motley Crew!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/ReY7DYinB4I/AAAAAAAAAAs/_I9GDnErG2U/s1600-h/Banff+014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/ReY7DYinB4I/AAAAAAAAAAs/_I9GDnErG2U/s320/Banff+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036778162573739906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;This past week, my kids and I had the wonderful oppurtunity to "get out of dodge".  We spent a couple of days in Canmore with some very good people.  (they didn't even pay me to say that!)  This is a [icture of us by Bow Falls in Banff.  It wasn't falling very fast as it was frozen but still very beautiful.  &lt;/span&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/21060261-5214304745710182893?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/5214304745710182893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=5214304745710182893&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/5214304745710182893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/5214304745710182893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/02/motley-crew.html' title='Motley Crew!'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/ReY7DYinB4I/AAAAAAAAAAs/_I9GDnErG2U/s72-c/Banff+014.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-6453576523265685273</id><published>2007-01-13T09:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T19:53:12.810-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sexy and Seventeen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rako_zjk3yI/AAAAAAAAAAU/NCVOBkER53E/s1600-h/uofc_037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 198px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rako_zjk3yI/AAAAAAAAAAU/NCVOBkER53E/s320/uofc_037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019588336317423394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rakopzjk3xI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iyvwnjzj0as/s1600-h/uofc_006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rakopzjk3xI/AAAAAAAAAAM/iyvwnjzj0as/s320/uofc_006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5019587958360301330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;On Monday my beautiful daughter turns 17 years old.   I sit back and can't believe it myself.  Where have those years gone and who knew that they would go by so quickly?  I remember 17 and have always said that it was my favorite year.  I hope that she can say the same at the end of it.  I can imagine as many of you read this you will say to yourself, "that is a long way off", but I am here to tell you that it is going to come sooner than you ever imagined.   You may look down at your little one and think next week seems far away let alone 17.  This is not so my friend.  The time goes by way too quickly.&lt;br /&gt;I worry about whether I have taught her what she will need to know for when that dreaded day comes that she is off to college.  (Yes mother I know that is in just one year, thank you for that reminder!)  Will she be able to manage her $$$ and feed herself nutritious meals.  Will she be able to handle the different kinds of pressure that will be introduced to her in the post secondary settings?  What will I do without my right hand girl there to help keep me organized and in my right mind?  Oh so many questions and fears come along with the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am reminded as I come close to tears just thinking about these things, that I will just have to continue to place her in the very capable arms of our loving Heavenly Father.  He cares more for this beautiful child than I ever could...although I can hardly imagine that.  As I remember my favorite verse I remember what he has to say about me and know that he says it to her as well.  He has plans for her future...plans to prosper her and not harm, plans for a hope and a future. Jer 29:11-15. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-6453576523265685273?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/6453576523265685273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=6453576523265685273&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/6453576523265685273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/6453576523265685273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2007/01/sexy-and-seventeen.html' title='Sexy and Seventeen'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gHJUpSQNKJE/Rako_zjk3yI/AAAAAAAAAAU/NCVOBkER53E/s72-c/uofc_037.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-4721107141328173823</id><published>2006-12-20T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-20T14:27:26.433-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Perfect Gift?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So I went spent the day in &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Red Deer&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:City&gt; with a dear friend of mine on Friday.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Got the last minute shopping done for Christmas and hope that I don’t have to face the crazy Christmas crowd again.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can’t believe how many people are in the stores on an early weekday morning. (Don’t people out there have jobs?)We thought that if we started first thing in the morning we would miss the masses but we were wrong.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We shopped til we dropped, went to see the movie The &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Holiday&lt;/st1:place&gt; and then I got to eat for the first time at Tony Roma’s.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The movie was good….one of those that makes you cry and laugh.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I think they have taken a few scenes from my life to make it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You will have to watch it to see what I mean.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will probably have to buy it when it comes out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Tony Roma’s was fantastic.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The ribs are outta this world! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;With the hustle and bustle of Christmas I am reminded of how crazy and out of hand it is.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The amount of money that gets spent for the sake of having the presents under the tree is astounding.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While I was out in the malls I saw many big ticket items being carried away to place under the tree, although I am not too sure if some of them would even fit.&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I think the Christmas we know and the Christmas of our grandparents has got to be so different.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I bet you that finding that perfect gift for grandma wasn’t so hard for grandpa.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;That generation didn’t already “have it all” like so many of us already do. It is difficult to think of the “perfect” gift for my kids and still be able to afford it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;How often do we do without like our grandparents did?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have to say that there is precious little that I &lt;b style=""&gt;need&lt;/b&gt; and don’t have.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;With that said there is precious little that I &lt;b style=""&gt;want&lt;/b&gt; and don’t have. (maybe some of those big ticket items and a new bottle of my Gucci perfume) &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My thought is that when our grandparents were young there was a ton of things that could have been gifted.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I bet Christmas was more about spending time with loved ones and being thankful for what they did have. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Would it be too much to say that Christmas would have meant more then?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-4721107141328173823?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/4721107141328173823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=4721107141328173823&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/4721107141328173823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/4721107141328173823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/12/perfect-gift.html' title='The Perfect Gift?'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-4440191498043875845</id><published>2006-12-13T07:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T13:28:31.319-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Sucks!</title><content type='html'>Well, anyboody who knows me know that I am not a big fan of Christmas.  And since christmas is just around the corner, I am once again reminded of how much I dislike it.  It isn't the celebration of our Savior's birth that I dislike so please don't be blogging me in horror of this travesty.   It isn't the family get togethers that  I don't like about it...although they have gotten rather  stressful in the past.  I don't think it was until last night that I finally came to the conclusion for the majority of my dissatisfaction with the holiday.&lt;br /&gt;The minor part of my dislike with holiday would have to be the materialism that it represents.  I think that I am really feeling that right now as a single mom of 4 kids that have rather expensive tastes.  They have visions of ipods and other electronic gadgets dancing in their pretty little heads, way out of my league for this year.   I know that is partly my fault for playing along with the bigger better present game in the past.  My ex husband and I really conditioned them to be the way they are as the big Christmas $$$ was really a big part for his family.   But now it is only me to provide the presents under the tree (and you all thought that it was Santa didn't you), a job almost too overwhelming at times.  With that being said, let me share with you that backing up the bus is way more difficult that going forward.&lt;br /&gt;I think the bigger thing that I dislike about the holiday is it brings back some unpleasant memories.  It was 3 years ago today that my husband left us for a bigger better life that I we could no longer provide for him. (Enough said!)&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately I have been grumpy with the kids and as a result they have really pushed my buttons.  I have to tell you that I can understand why some mammals eat their young.  This morning I told son #2 that if I wasn't home today after school it was because I had found where mothers hand in their resignations.  He quickly replied to me that was ok if I wanted to be a pansy like dad and leave them too.  I guess that isn't an option! &lt;br /&gt;The quickly arriving holiday season should be bringing us joy and good cheer and for some reason it feels like impending doom.   I guess the thing is that I really need to work on is the attitude...either that or start drinking more.  Maybe I will start with the drinking and see if the attitude will improve.  I will get back to you after Iattempt to get festive with a little Bailey's in my coffee and let you know how it is working.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-4440191498043875845?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/4440191498043875845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=4440191498043875845&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/4440191498043875845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/4440191498043875845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/12/christmas-sucks.html' title='Christmas Sucks!'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-6242825367781616734</id><published>2006-11-17T21:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T21:41:43.929-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mozambique</title><content type='html'>I wanted to share the new blog in my life.  mozambiquemissiontrip.blogspot.com.  Check it out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-6242825367781616734?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/6242825367781616734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=6242825367781616734&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/6242825367781616734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/6242825367781616734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/11/mozambique.html' title='Mozambique'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-114468869249029967</id><published>2006-04-10T10:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-10T16:26:02.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Is She?</title><content type='html'>Who am I? A question that I have been trying to figure out as you might have seen by my profile. There are the obvious definitions of me being a mother, a nurse and almost divorced, but am slowly figuring out that there is so much more and to tell you the truth I am kind of liking me. I think that sometimes we as women often give so much of ourselves to the benifit of our husbands and children that we forget to give to our own being. Forget to remember what we like and don't like. Forget sometimes how to think outside our little box called our family. And when we are forced to look at who we are deep down inside, past the laundry,making wholesome nutritious meals, playing chauffeur and so on, we have almost forgotten who we really are. At least I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two and a half years ago I was placed in just that very position. I had to figure out who I was and what I was really made of, and in turn who God was inteneding me to be. And to tell you the truth I didn't like what I saw, because I was sure that I wouldn't be able to survive. I didn't think that I had what it was going to take to be the sole caregiver of my 4 kids and somehow survive financially. How would I get through the schooling that was all of a sudden so neccesary to our survival? I even though that I might have to move the kids up to Prince George to live with my mom. (can you imagine?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is when you probably think that after 2 1/2 years that I did have what it took and we have survived....but I will have to tell you that you are wrong. I didn't do it...God did it and so much more. He was the one that worked through me and made life go forward. You see, there was no more of me left. No more of me to go on and do what had to be done. I have had various people come and ask me how going to school and working and raising 4 kids by myself was and how hard was it for me to do. My answer to them is "I don't know how I did it". Life was such a blur and I honestly don't know. I do know that I was carried by an awesome God that brought me through some fiery times. Somehow we have made it this far and I for one am truly amazed. God has shown me what I am capable of with him leading the way. He has shown me a little glimpse of who he intended me to be. He promises us that he will never give us more than we can handle although I was sure questioning that not too long ago. And don't get me wrong I am not blowing my horn by any means. These ducks of mine have got a long way to go to be anywhere close to being in a row. But I can tell you that I can better describe who I am now. I think the best way that I can describe me is... better than I was and not as good as I will be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-114468869249029967?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/114468869249029967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=114468869249029967&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114468869249029967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114468869249029967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/04/who-is-she.html' title='Who Is She?'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-114290840713659375</id><published>2006-03-20T18:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-20T18:33:27.150-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If You Want Me To</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;Song by Ginny Owens&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;If You Want Me To&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;The pathway is broken&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; And the signs are unclear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; And I don't know the reason why you brought me here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; But just because you love me the way that you do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; I'm gonna walk through the valley&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; If you want me to&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; Cuz I'm not who I was&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; When I took my first step&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; And I'm clinging to the promise you're not through with me yet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; So if all of these trials bring me closer to you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; Then I will go through the fire&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; If you want me to&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; It may not be the way I would have chosen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; When you lead me through a world that's not my home&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; But you never said it would be easy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; You only said I'll never go alone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; So when the whole world turns against me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; And I'm all by myself&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; And I can't hear you answer my cries for help&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; I'll remember the suffering your love put you through&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; And I will go through the valley&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt; If you want me to&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is one of my favorite songs.  I came across this about 1 month after my husband left us.  It was an extremely hard time in my life...the hardest, and I was struggling to make it through the next 5 minutes let alone the day.  For some reason I heard this song on the radio and it really made an impact on me,  so I went on the hunt for the CD not even knowing who sang it.   Somewhere I lost it in the last year and just bought a new one the other day so I could enjoy it again.  Now that I have been reunited with it I just wanted to let you read the words because they mean so much to me.   If I was smart as some of my computer Geek friends, (I won't name any names, because they know who they are) I would put it on here so you could hear it, but alas you might just have to ask me for the CD the next time you see me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-114290840713659375?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/114290840713659375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=114290840713659375&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114290840713659375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114290840713659375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/03/if-you-want-me-to.html' title='If You Want Me To'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-114256377478733255</id><published>2006-03-16T18:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-16T18:49:34.800-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Is A Mother To Do?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="RTE"&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Well it has  happened!&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The day that I have most dreaded.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The day  this mother hoped would never come.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And in the end…I survived it  even better than I had thought I would.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Devon came to me 2  nights ago and asked me if he could get his ear pierced.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There I  said it!&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yes, he came to me with the protection of his dear sweet  cousin (Jenessa) and asked if he could mutilate his body.&lt;span&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;It was the worst  thought possible for me to think of my baby boy getting his ear pierced.&lt;span&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;On several occasions over the past 14 years I have thought of the  possibility of him wanting one.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For some reason it is just one of  those things that I have never really thought was cool.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yes I  realize that it is sort of a weird thing coming out of my mouth since I myself  have a nose ring.&lt;span&gt;..And  &lt;/span&gt;my 16 year old daughter has one as well. (I took  her to go and get it for her 16&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; birthday)&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But that is  different…isn’t it?&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Apparently not!&lt;span&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;He and his cousin  had planned to go over to a friends house that evening to do the dirty deed  themselves.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Being the good boy that he is, he decided that it was  best to ask permission first.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Good Boy Devon!&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(yes I  am still in shock about that)&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As I have said it is something that  I had thought might be a possibility and so I have pondered long and hard of how I might respond when the time came.&lt;span&gt; A while&lt;/span&gt; back I decided that I  would not fight the battles that really were unimportant.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You  know, things like hair color and pierced ears. (still have a problem with  pierced lips and eyebrows though)&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After all I have dyed my hair for so  long that I can’t even remember what the natural color is anymore and as I said  I have a nose ring.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"&gt;Well the evening was a  bust for him as the friend couldn’t have them over and so this procedure began  to take place at home instead.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Jenessa got the ice cubes for  freezing and Devon sanitized the earring as per his mother’s  instructions.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;After ½ hour, and a lot of noisy commotion the 2 of them  come out of the bathroom for a breather.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The ear is not any closer to  being pierced than it was before they began and all they had to show for it was  a lot of melted ice.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;(Okay really it was a little&lt;span&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;bit pierced)&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Jenessa is frustrated with Devon and Devon is  frustrated with Jenessa.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Coming to the mom for a little direction  (will they never learn?) they ask what to do.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Well let’s just say  to the shock and short discomfort on Devon’s part that the ear got  pierced.&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So not only did I agreed to this barbaric thing but I  think that I even did it for him!&lt;span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Now I look at my baby boy and  wonder how he got me to be a part of it and think... What kind of a mother am  I?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-114256377478733255?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/114256377478733255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=114256377478733255&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114256377478733255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114256377478733255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/03/what-is-mother-to-do.html' title='What Is A Mother To Do?'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-114246791624828990</id><published>2006-03-15T16:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-15T16:11:56.250-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/biking.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/320/biking.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I will tell you a little bit about me that you wouldn't neccesarily know.&lt;br /&gt;I grew up in Fruitvale, BC. Go ahead with the jokes...I have probably already heard it all. We lived up on an old ski hill that was no longer in use and so it was growing over with brush. It was a pretty nice piece of land but of course because it was an abandoned ski hill, it was on the side of a mountain. Great for a view, but sucked for the walk home from school as it was 2 miles mostly up hill. I quite often would ride my bike to school. That was always a quick trip due to it being all down hill all the way there. I would time myself and try to better the time it took each week and when I was at my best, I would try to mix it up a bit by riding it with out hand on the handle bars. This was a difficult task as it was not all straight road but with practice I discovered that it could be done for 3/4 of the trip. The other 1/4 was to put the breaks on for extreme speed on corners. Come to think of it it would have been totally awsome for lugeing in the summertime. In the winter the neighbour kids and I would all pile on crazy carpets and take the slope that way. This was not always the safest thing because there would be times when a car would be taking the ascend up as we were going down. It would take some fancy footwork to get your carpet out of the way in time as not to be face to face with someone's bumper. The kids and I always though it was great fun but the drivers of the cars never seemed to have the same humor of the activity. Many of them probably having to go home and clean their shorts.&lt;br /&gt;As I am sure you have guess by now...what goes down must come back up. Yes, the joys of getting to school were not the same joys as walking home. And I mean walking home. (But didn't she say that she would ride her bike to school. Yes, Yes she did.) Let me remind you that it was 2 miles straight up the side of a mountain. I am not talking the kind of hill that you have to go up to get to top of these bumps they call 3 Hills. I am talking mountain. It was hard going when you walked it without the backpack on your back...but when you had to push the bike too. Let's just say that I didn't get a lot of friends volunteering to come over to my house afterschool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, one day I was taking the decent down the mountain with a neighbour friend of mine. She was delivering newpapers and I was along for the ride. We were at the steepest part of the hill when I hit a pothole that I was sure hadn't been there the day before. It wasn't a really big pothole but big enough to throw my small ten speed off into a different direction. My body didn't get the message soon enough about the change of direction and let's just say that it didn't end well for me or my chin. I don't really remember much about the whole incident...just remember my dad coming from out of what I though was the blue and him taking me up to the Dr.'s office. Apparently the Dr. was good with a needle and that was what I would be needing. It took 15 stiches to put my chin back together that day. And in the end I have to tell you that I took the decent down that hill a little bit slower from then on...at least fro the rest of that summer anyhow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-114246791624828990?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/114246791624828990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=114246791624828990&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114246791624828990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114246791624828990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/03/shell-be-coming-round-mountain.html' title='She&apos;ll Be Coming &apos;Round the Mountain'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-114110669473868817</id><published>2006-02-27T20:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-27T22:04:59.963-08:00</updated><title type='text'>To Sleep Or Not To Sleep</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/sleeping_cat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/400/sleeping_cat.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of you know that I do a lot of night shifts with my job. It has taken me quite a while to get used to doing them, and to think of it, I am not sure that you ever get truly used to them. As a kid I was always in bed early. I guess I just really needed my full 8 to 10 hours of sleep per night. It really sort of sucked at all night events such as slumber parties because it would be an angonizing thing to have to stay up and party with the rest of the night owls. You know...the ones that stayed up passed 9 pm. I would try my best to stay awake as long as I possibly could because I knew from past experience that bad things happened to the first one asleep. Hopefully we would be doing something that required movement, preferably outside, because if it was something like lying on the floor and deeply involved in girl-talk...I was definatly hooped. My eyelids would get heavy and it would be near impossible to hold my head up as the familiar head bob would begin.&lt;br /&gt;I haven't really changed much over the years. Still like to be in bed by 10 pm. And so...I am sure you can see the dilema. This is an impossibility for someone that works nightshift. My shift begins at 7 pm. It is usually quite busy until about 11pm but then things slow down considerably. I will have a couple hours of paperwork to complete before the morning arrives. This can be a brutal task to complete when all you really want is to shut your eyes. Then there is the really quiet time from 2:30 til 4:30. Some nights we are kept busy with ringing bells but some nights it can be excrutiatingly slow. Usually by 3 am I would do just about anything to laydown on some horizontal surface, although this is not a good idea because I very easily fall into a very deep, very hard to wake up sleep. If I am lucky I will get to sit in one of the easychairs and catnap until it is time to get people washed up for the day. By the time 7 am rolls around I am fanticizing about my nice warm, feather filled bed. When I arrive home I am deliriously happy to fall into my bed and float off to a peaceful slumber... Only to have to get up later that afternoon to prepare to go through the whole torturous process again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem is that it all messes up your sleep patterns and what used to be bedtime is now daytime and vice-versa. It has really threatened to interfere with the social life(don't get too excited...I don't really have one) and nightshifts I have found are not condusive to having kids at home during the day, such as weekends. So most of the time when I get home on Sunday morning I will shower and change and pack the kids in the van and get off to church in time for Sunday School. (By the way I am so thankful for the coffee at church) Then we will stay for the service and drive back home and then think something for dinner, entertain company (hopefully play poker) and maybe watch a movie. (usually I will fall asleep on the couch while everyone else watches movie) All the time thinking that if I slow down too much then the game is over. I will finally allow myself to fall into bed in the evening after being awake for 30 hrs and fall hard and fast asleep. This morning I knew that I had really fallen deep cause when I woke up I was in the same positon that I went to sleep in...I was also regretting not going straight to bed when I got home after the shift and just bypassing the social life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-114110669473868817?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/114110669473868817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=114110669473868817&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114110669473868817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/114110669473868817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/02/to-sleep-or-not-to-sleep.html' title='To Sleep Or Not To Sleep'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-113993280266475816</id><published>2006-02-14T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-14T08:00:07.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Psalm 139</title><content type='html'>&lt;h4&gt;Psalm 139&lt;/h4&gt;    &lt;h5&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/h5&gt; &lt;p&gt;   &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16220"&gt;1&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    O LORD, you have examined my heart&lt;br /&gt;       and know everything about me. &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(but Lord there are things I don't want you to know about because I am ashamed of my thoughts at times)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16221"&gt;2&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You know when I sit down or stand up.&lt;br /&gt;       You know my every thought when far away.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16222"&gt;3&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You chart the path ahead of me &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt; (so you really know about this path I am on?!!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       and tell me where to stop and rest.&lt;br /&gt;       Every moment you know where I am. &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(I don't know where I am half the time)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16223"&gt;4&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You know what I am going to say&lt;br /&gt;       even before I say it, LORD.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(I mess up so often with my words, my foot is in there so much)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16224"&gt;5&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You both precede and follow me.&lt;br /&gt;       You place your hand of blessing on my head.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16225"&gt;6&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,&lt;br /&gt;       too great for me to know!&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;( I can't even come close to understanding)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16226"&gt;7&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    I can never escape from your spirit!&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;( and yet sometimes I wonder if you are really there?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       I can never get away from your presence!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16227"&gt;8&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    If I go up to heaven, you are there;&lt;br /&gt;       if I go down to the place of the dead,&lt;sup&gt;&lt;/sup&gt; you are there.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16228"&gt;9&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    If I ride the wings of the morning,&lt;br /&gt;       if I dwell by the farthest oceans,&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16229"&gt;10&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    even there your hand will guide me, &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(guide me on this path I am on)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       and your strength will support me.&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(you have carried me many times when I couldn't continue on)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16230"&gt;11&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    I could ask the darkness to hide me&lt;br /&gt;       and the light around me to become night--&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;      &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16231"&gt;12&lt;/sup&gt; but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.&lt;br /&gt;    To you the night shines as bright as day.&lt;br /&gt;       Darkness and light are both alike to you.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16232"&gt;13&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(you made me the way I am on purpose?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       and knit me together in my mother's womb. &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(really on purpose?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16233"&gt;14&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;( I am a work of art, not a mistake?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       Your workmanship is marvelous--and how well I know it.&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;(not a rough draft or an opps?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16234"&gt;15&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(how amazing you are)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16235"&gt;16&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    You saw me before I was born.&lt;br /&gt;       Every day of my life was recorded in your book. &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;(you knew the trials I would go through)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Every moment was laid out&lt;br /&gt;       before a single day had passed.  &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(you knew it all before I lived it...somehow that is comforting)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16236"&gt;17&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    How precious are your thoughts about me, O God!&lt;br /&gt;       They are innumerable!&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt; (even with all my sinfulness??? how can that be)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16237"&gt;18&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    I can't even count them;&lt;br /&gt;       they outnumber the grains of sand!&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(because you created me and I am your work of art)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    And when I wake up in the morning,&lt;br /&gt;       you are still with me! &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(you are always there by my side!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16238"&gt;19&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    O God, if only you would destroy the wicked!&lt;br /&gt;       Get out of my life, you murderers!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16239"&gt;20&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    They blaspheme you;&lt;br /&gt;       your enemies take your name in vain.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16240"&gt;21&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    O LORD, shouldn't I hate those who hate you?&lt;br /&gt;       Shouldn't I despise those who resist you?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16241"&gt;22&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Yes, I hate them with complete hatred,&lt;br /&gt;       for your enemies are my enemies.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;     &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16242"&gt;23&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Search me, O God, and know my heart;&lt;br /&gt;       test me and know my thoughts&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;sup id="en-NLT-16243"&gt;24&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Point out anything in me that offends you,&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;( make me the woman that you designed me to be)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       and lead me along the path of everlasting life. &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"&gt;(less of me, more of you)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-113993280266475816?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/113993280266475816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=113993280266475816&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113993280266475816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113993280266475816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/02/psalm-139.html' title='Psalm 139'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-113988708321854239</id><published>2006-02-13T19:01:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-13T19:18:03.220-08:00</updated><title type='text'>V-Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/valentine%27s.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/400/valentine%27s.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate Valentine's day! It is yet another day to be disappointed for those of us out there that are single. If there are any of you out there that know what I mean give me a comment or two. Even when I wasn't single my husband rarely brought anything home because he wasn't going to be dictated to by the commercial forces out there to buy a valentine's gift for his wife. Like a lot of men out there he said it would happen when he felt led to...by the way that was not very often. I heard a commercial on the radio the other day advertising to go and buy your sweetheart a brand new bed for Valentine's day. Now am I the only one out here that feels that is the stupidest Valentine's gift ever. The only redeeming factor about it is that it is yet another reason to eat chocolate..not that I ever needed a reason!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-113988708321854239?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/113988708321854239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=113988708321854239&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113988708321854239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113988708321854239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/02/v-day_13.html' title='V-Day'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-113979684515502279</id><published>2006-02-12T18:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-13T19:19:08.390-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How did I get here?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/footprints.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/400/footprints.1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you ever wonder how in the world you got to where you are? I saw a greeting card the other day and it went something along the lines of this. "Life sometimes gives you a ticket to a brand new adventure...Isn't it funny how you sometime have no choice on whether you want to participate, and to top it off you have to pay for the ticket too!" It sort of made me smile because it is a concept that has been rather close to home for me. I too have had to pay for a ticket that I wasn't so keen on paying for and I definatly didn't want to take the adventure that was being forcable offered to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years ago my life was taken off of the chosen, desired track of adventure. I was living a rather predictable and safe life. (so I thought) No real surprises where planned and I was living life trying to do the best I could until the next planned adventure was to be put into motion. Well the fated day came and my safe and predictable life took a very unsafe and unpredictable turn. When I say unsafe and unpredictable turn I am remind that these are the immediate feelings that I felt inside but in reality the were just the opposite. My not so immediate response is that I may be on a path that I didn't quite anticipate but at least I was not alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for me, I don't neccesarily understand why I had to take the less travelled, undesirable and lonely road. I do know that sometimes that less travelled, undesired and lonely choice can bring you closer to a God that may not have been so familiar. I have learned that I am a very capable woman...or so it may seem. I am not sure how I have gotten to where I am, just know without a doubt that it hasn't been on my own steam. Yes, I have had the motherhood thing driving me, but most of all I have had God walking all he way with me. Walking with me, carrying me and pulling me through some of the hardest time in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever noticed that hindsight is 20/20. After some time has passed we can usually see things in a much better light then when we saw things as we were living through them. It doesn't always mean that we would still have chosen the road that we had been forced to go down but sometimes we understand things a little more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That Brings me to the question again...How did I get here?  I sure as heck can't tell you but I do know I didn't get here alone!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-113979684515502279?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/113979684515502279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=113979684515502279&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113979684515502279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113979684515502279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/02/how-did-i-get-here.html' title='How did I get here?'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-113874209450563906</id><published>2006-01-31T12:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-31T13:14:57.080-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't some mothers eat their young</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/parenting16.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/200/parenting16.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the proud mother of 4 delightful, beautiful, entertaining and truly exceptional kids. They are very enjoyable people to spend time with and it is so exciting to see them mature and develop their individual personalities. There are many days(about 90%) that I sit back and marvel at their uniqueness. Sometimes I wonder how 4 people from the same family can be so different and so the same all at the one time. I grew up a only child and so this is all very facinating to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said many days I will marvel these things...well the other &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;10%&lt;/span&gt; I truly wonder how in the world I could have been a part of bringing these defiant, disobediant, self- centered creatures into this world. If there are any of you out there that have no inkling of what Iam talking about then you are probably not a parent. And if you are, then I don't wnat to hear about it!&lt;br /&gt;There are days when all they do is fight and argue back and forth for really no reason at all. As I can see it, this is done just for the sake of fighting and argueing. Once again I will remind you that as an only child, I don't get it! They will disobey their mother and be disrespectful. They are proffesionals at manipulation and try regularly to pull the wool over their mother's eyes. As I sit here and think about it I am amazed that if this is only 10% how come it exhausts me so?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was pregnant with my first baby(she is now 16) my mother would tease me and say to me "I hope that you have child that will be just like you". She thought that somehow raising me was a challenge and wanted me to experience some of the things that I put her through I would laugh at her then and remind her that I was and explary child and that she had nothing to complain about. I really think that she had no clue as to how hard it could have been. Now after the years have gone by, and there are 4 kids all together, Mom has since apologized for wishing that upon me. She stands back and thanks her lucky stars that she only had one child. Now mom, all I have to say to you is, I understand why some creatures eat their young!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-113874209450563906?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/113874209450563906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=113874209450563906&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113874209450563906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113874209450563906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/01/dont-some-mothers-eat-their-young.html' title='Don&apos;t some mothers eat their young'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-113744086302472230</id><published>2006-01-16T11:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-16T11:47:43.030-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet Sixteen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/cute%21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/320/cute%21.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend my oldest of 4 children turned 16.  It was a fairly significant day in her still young life, as I am sure it was a fairly big day for most of you.  That is if you can remember that long ago. (that is for you Lance)  For most of us 16 meant that we could finally drive the car without our white knuckled mother sitting in the passenger seat screaming at us to slow down for the corners.  It may have meant that we were finally allowed to date...with our parent actually knowing about it.  (Although this is not the case for my daughter as she will have to be at least 25 until I will agree to dating.)  And of course it meant that we would only have to endure living at home for 2 more years until we could move &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;away&lt;/span&gt; from the parental units.   (this too will be much later for my daughter)&lt;br /&gt;Ok, as I sit here and think about it,  I really think that her turning 16 is way more significant for me, her "very young" mother, than it is for her.  It is a trip down memory lane as I turn the pages in her baby book and remember the many milestones both she and I passed together.   It is a very firm reminder that the major part of my contribution to her young life is coming to an end as in 2 years (or much longer) she will be expected to venture out on her own.  Have I taught her all that she will need to make good decisions and survive a life seperate from her mommy?  But most of all I am brought face to face with my shortcoming as her mother.  Not the sort of shortcomings that involve guilt.  (I am sure that is  something that all of you mothers out there can identify with.)  I am talking about the sort of shortcoming that reminds me that I am only human and without the grace of God and his loving direction I am a complete failure as her mother.   It is in this partnership with God that I need to remain so that my beautiful daughter will continue to develop and in turn hopefully strive to be woman He intends her to be.  And so my prayer is that I will continue to let Him work through me and be the best mother to my 16 years daughter that he had planned for me to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-113744086302472230?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/113744086302472230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=113744086302472230&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113744086302472230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113744086302472230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/01/sweet-sixteen.html' title='Sweet Sixteen'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21060261.post-113743800847145180</id><published>2006-01-16T10:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-16T11:00:08.480-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My New House</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/1600/our%20house.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6850/2085/320/our%20house.1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a picture of my new house.  Well it isn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;brand new&lt;/span&gt; mine as I have lived in it for the past 3 months. If you have driven past it you will have noticed that it is covered with much more snow and not a blade of green grass in sight. But that is ok because  it is mine.  Mine, Mine, Mine!  All mine!  Okay it isn't all mine as I share it with my 4 beautiful children but for the most part it is mine. &lt;br /&gt;I am sure you wondering why that is such a big deal as I am sure many of you own your own homes. &lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you a little story about this house.  This house is a home that was a direct answer to prayer.  Yes, an answer to prayer.  After many months of begging that God would move me out of my very difficult living situation,( a seperation, in-laws next door and a flooded basement,) God brought this little home to my attention.  And  2 weeks after seeing it, it was bought and we had moved in.  Cool huh?  Yes there is much more detail to the story but I said I would tell you the "little" version. &lt;br /&gt;By the way it has a 2 car garage in the back and it is just a hop, skip and a jump from the grocery store. (good for a mother of 4 , 2 of which are teenagers and one that eats like one).  And it is just as cute inside as it is on the outside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21060261-113743800847145180?l=deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/feeds/113743800847145180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21060261&amp;postID=113743800847145180&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113743800847145180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21060261/posts/default/113743800847145180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://deepscarlettbuttercup.blogspot.com/2006/01/my-new-house.html' title='My New House'/><author><name>W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02520659679714621925</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
