tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48668543871370461602024-02-06T20:34:19.569-06:00DEEP WATERSDeep Waters embodies a convergence of the loves of my life - Jesus, family, friends, great literature and my heart for children from hard places. Throw in a sprinkling of my thoughts on current events within this ever-changing culture, and Voila! Your feet have dipped into Deep Waters - this gift from my heart to yours.carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-81543327050540790542019-05-11T16:15:00.000-05:002019-05-11T16:38:19.514-05:00Adoption & Race: What Makes a Mom a Mom?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What makes a Momma?<br />
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Is it biology? Carrying a child in your womb? Giving birth to a baby boy or girl?<br />
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Well yes of course. Biology and shared genes definitely make a mom a mom. And having given birth to two precious babies myself, I am grateful that God chose us women to carry and nurture life.<br />
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But there's so much more that makes a mom a mom. Let's take a look at the many ways we women become mommas and mommas-at-heart...<br />
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A mom is the woman who gave birth to her third biological child (just today) while raising her two really young sons alongside two foster babies that joined their family months ago.<br />
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A mom is the woman who went back and forth to Haiti to fight to bring her daughters home.<br />
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A mom is the white woman who traveled all the way to Sierra Leone, Africa to adopt her beautiful, brown twin girls.<br />
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A mom is the black woman who traveled all the way to Moscow, Russia to adopt her beautiful brown baby boy.<br />
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A mom is the woman who opened her home and heart to seven foster kids age newborn to seventeen this very weekend. Yes seven... While already raising five young children. Yes five... Yep... your math is correct. That makes 12 children in her home.<br />
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A mom is the woman who selflessly made an adoption plan for her child, hoping to give her a chance at a better life than she believed she could provide.<br />
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A mom is the woman who carried life then lost it too soon. Whether she experienced a miscarriage (I've experienced two) or lost her baby soon after birth, she is forever and always a mom to those babies in heaven.<br />
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A mom is the woman who loves her husband's children as much as she loves the children she birthed.<br />
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A mom is the auntie that loves and spoils her nieces and nephews in ways that we moms are sometimes too over-scheduled and exhausted to do.<br />
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A mom is the educator who cares well for her students, with a healthy balance of discipline and compassion. One who knows that every adult remembers their favorite teachers decades afterwards.<br />
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A mom is the mentor who listens more than she advises. Who affirms more than she instructs. Who prays more than she preaches.<br />
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A mom is the woman who loves much, forgives often and nurtures well.<br />
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She defends her children fiercely, knowing they will never fully realize the depths of her love for them.<br />
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She is invaluable. She is YOU. She is ME.<br />
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So to all the mommas and the mommas-at heart, Happy Mother's Day.<br />
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You are amazing, my Sister. 💛💛<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-58668746768660622192019-04-29T14:03:00.003-05:002019-04-29T23:13:42.381-05:00Adoption & Race - Why I Am Completely Exhausted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey everybody! Remember me?<br />
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I haven't been here in over a year. And I won't waste your time with <i>all</i> the reasons why. I will say the underlying reasons are:<br />
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1. I am really busy with family and ministry work<br />
2. As much as I love writing, I have spent almost a year and a half telling myself that I'm too busy to get it done (See reason #1)<br />
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And the thing is this... A quick survey of the current state of my home would reveal a kitchen sink full of dirty dishes, baskets of laundry to put in dresser drawers and floors needing to be cleaned and vacuumed. (I did manage to thoroughly clean my bathroom this weekend, so all hope is not lost...)<br />
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Anyway, since I don't see life getting any <i>less </i>busy, I've decided to apply my butt to the seat* and commence writing here again.<br />
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But enough about my blog reunion and on to why I'm here...<br />
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For about a year now I have had a book idea, and since I haven't begun writing yet, today it remains just that -<i> an idea</i>. So this is my attempt at getting this idea out there. Putting some flesh on it. Seeing if anyone else out there is thinking about this stuff too.<br />
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So what's the idea? So glad you asked.<br />
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My idea is a convergence of two seemingly unrelated topics that I have spent a lot of time talking and <a href="https://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2017/10/this-is-us-truth-about-adoption-and.html" target="_blank">writing about</a>. Both topics are pretty hot right now - especially in the Church.<br />
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The topics are - ADOPTION and RACE.<br />
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As an adoptive mom of color who works in the <a href="https://churchofthecity.com/wraparound/" target="_blank">adoption and foster care ministry space</a>, I am finding these topics intersect more and more. Recently at a community <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/2308751285849245/" target="_blank">Race Conversation</a> my husband Anthony is co-leading, a brave young African American man in his early twenties volunteered to share his perspective on race, having been adopted by his white dad and black mom. The topics were completely intertwined for him as a young man of color <i>and</i> an adult adoptee.<br />
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For me it was confirmation. Race and adoption are absolutely connected. I hope to prove that as I share here over the coming weeks and months.<br />
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But before I dive in, I have a confession to make.<br />
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I am facing huge pushback as I open my heart and share on race, and that pushback can be translated into another word - EXHAUSTION.<br />
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I am utterly exhausted over the issue of race. And instead of giving a multi-paragraph dissertation on why I'm exhausted, I'll just list the reasons for you here.<br />
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<li>I'm exhausted by being the only African American woman in many rooms I enter</li>
<li>I'm exhausted by vacillating between being the object of intrigue in the room (because I'm different) or feeling invisible (because I'm different)</li>
<li>I'm exhausted by daily news feeds - another unarmed black man killed, controversy over Civil War memorials, white supremacist groups marching in city streets around the country, etc. etc.</li>
<li>I'm exhausted over the (often subconscious) need to prove that I am articulate, intelligent and capable</li>
<li>I'm exhausted over reading ongoing arguments on social media about race - often between complete strangers</li>
<li>I'm exhausted over the fear for black men in my life (especially my young adult and teen sons), knowing that black men are feared by individuals from every other people group</li>
<li>I'm exhausted after walking my daughters through mean comments about their natural hair and skin color</li>
<li>I'm exhausted over sharing my experiences with others, then having to prove that those experiences are absolutely tied to my race</li>
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And yet, I am committed to press through my exhaustion and continue to share here. I will continue to draw out connectors to adoption, though honestly, I'm pretty exhausted as an adoptive mom too. (But that's a subject for another post.)<br />
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So if you'll allow me an exhausted rant or two every now and then, I'll keep coming back if you will.<br />
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I hope we can learn and grow together.<br />
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We'll do it here in Deep Waters.<br />
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* G-rated adaptation of writer Dorothy Parker's famous quote - "Writing is the art of applying the ass to the seat." :)<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-63303146068336830662018-01-15T17:39:00.000-06:002018-01-15T17:41:20.016-06:00TODAY on MLK Jr. Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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TODAY is MLK Day. The day we honor and remember a great man in our nation's history.<br />
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A man who lived, fought and died for the freedom of African Americans and all people.<br />
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TODAY I celebrate this man, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.<br />
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And to celebrate Dr. King and his legacy I'd like to share a few more things that have happened TODAY.<br />
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TODAY I sat on a pew in one of Franklin, Tennessee's historic African American churches and listened to some amazing gospel music and powerful testimonials.<br />
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TODAY I stood up in that pew and applauded the spoken word shared and raised my hands to some soul-stirring songs like <i>God is</i> and <i>Every Praise</i>.<br />
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TODAY I marched with my husband, my children and a large group of people through the streets of Franklin. A mixed group full of black folks, white folks, Latino folks and native American folks.<br />
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<b>TODAY we dreamed of unity and justice. The same dreams of Dr. King.</b><br />
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And I also made a really fun discovery...<br />
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TODAY I found a school assignment I'd written on January 17, 1984 when I was a freshman in high school.<br />
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Here's a pic of cover page of that assignment (apparently before I began using a desktop computer).<br />
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And here's a pic that I shared of my family in that assignment. In the summer of 1976 my entire family - parents, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins - traveled to Atlanta, Georgia to visit Dr. King's gravesite and the Center for Social Change. (I'm the second kid on the left)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbp4LNyezEWF7ms2apxrB2uBlNVDuDmDolnizpXHUHEiwIFqloRcZ0u_4uH8P9iMfqsgfs324wa464BwsTaHjaLAVgQyvXTbjO95IjcpZj3u22dUc4j2YEgHgLcIzEX8gD0rGEPlPseQWu/s1600/Resized952018011595152214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbp4LNyezEWF7ms2apxrB2uBlNVDuDmDolnizpXHUHEiwIFqloRcZ0u_4uH8P9iMfqsgfs324wa464BwsTaHjaLAVgQyvXTbjO95IjcpZj3u22dUc4j2YEgHgLcIzEX8gD0rGEPlPseQWu/s400/Resized952018011595152214.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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TODAY I read the concluding paragraph of this assignment:<br />
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<i>Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered on April 4, 1968, but his teachings and beliefs will live on. Late last year, President Reagan signed a bill making his birthday a national holiday. Now, hopefully, all children of all colors will know that school isn't out on January 15 so they can catch up on their sleep, but to celebrate the birthday of a great man in history, Martin Luther King, Jr.</i></blockquote>
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<b>TODAY I feel blessed, knowing that my children <i>did not</i> use the day to catch up on their sleep. Our day was filled with black church experience and marching through city streets with people of various skin hues and cultures and backgrounds and watching Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech during the 1968 March on Washington.</b></div>
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And yet...</div>
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<b>TODAY I look into the eyes of the little pigtailed girl in this picture from 1976 and wonder, is our world the world she thought she'd be living in? </b></div>
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(That's me in the denim overall shorts with my Mom, my Dad, my sister Sherri and half of my sister Lori. Apparently not a professional photographer!)</div>
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<b>That little girl inside me is hoping for a better TOMORROW.</b></div>
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A TOMORROW where people are not accepted and appreciated in spite of their differences, but <i>because</i> of them.</div>
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A TOMORROW where more churches are filled with people of different nationalities, skin hues and socio economic groups.</div>
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A TOMORROW where Christians fight for poor children in subpar housing and second-rate schools as passionately as they fought for them in the womb.</div>
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A TOMORROW where we empower disenfranchised communities, instead of gentrifying them with million dollar homes and coffee shops.</div>
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A TOMORROW where we give disadvantaged people job opportunities in lieu of playing Santa Claus for their children each year.</div>
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A TOMORROW where people can agree to disagree on social media, instead of unfriending and writing each other off.</div>
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Can I get an AMEN?!!!</div>
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Because of men and women like Dr. King, we are blessed with laws that protect our freedom to vote, attend racially diverse schools and ride in the front seats of public transportation.</div>
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However, <b>we have not arrived to the Promised Land that Dr. King spoke of so eloquently.</b> We have a ways to go. And in recent times, it seems that perhaps we have taken a few steps back.</div>
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<b>But I am hopeful.</b> As I see more female leaders and leaders of various skin hues in education, the corporate world, politics and entertainment, I believe change is a-coming. </div>
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<b>TODAY I'm dreaming of a better TOMORROW.</b></div>
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<b>Will YOU dream with me?</b></div>
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-86368317950290680402017-12-16T16:33:00.000-06:002017-12-16T16:33:38.619-06:00This Christmas: Sharing a Little HOPE for the Holidays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But...<br />
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This holiday season, it seems I just keep hearing about one sad situation after another. Here's a sampling of a few:<br />
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<ul>
<li>A teen girl struggling with life-altering anxiety and depression</li>
<li>A young mom of two beginning chemotherapy after undergoing a double mastectomy</li>
<li>A mom of two adopted kids out of work and facing the threat of homelessness</li>
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And the very worst of all... The mama whose mental illness and hopelessness led her to take her own life - just weeks before Christmas.</div>
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<b>The holidays can be a wonderful time filled with faith, family and fun. </b></div>
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<b>The holidays can also be a difficult time, a time when problems magnify, at least in our own minds.</b> </div>
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What makes matters worst is that it's also a time we assume we should be happy and joyful. After all, Christmas is a time that we celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior. We sing...</div>
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<i>Joy to the World, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King!</i></div>
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<b>We sing beautiful songs that remind us that the joy of this season doesn't come from wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree. Or from Santa Claus. Or even from the family and friends that we love dearly. Joy comes from Jesus and experiencing His love for us.</b></div>
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But when that joy is missing, especially at Christmastime, that fact can cause guilt and shame. It can sap the last bit of happiness and joy that we may have inside.</div>
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So... if you find yourself struggling with joy during this holiday season - or you know someone who is - please read on for some things I've learned while struggling during the Christmas season. Maybe I can extend just a little "Hope for the Holidays".</div>
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<b>1. You are NOT alone.</b></div>
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Loneliness is universal. Everyone feels lonely at times, even when surrounded by people and a bunch of noise. The thing to remember when you're feeling lonely is you are not alone in your loneliness. </div>
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<b>Another thing to remember is that this is a day and age when we must fight for connection. </b>I recently had lunch with a good friend, and at the end of our time she said to me, "Let's commit to do this more often. It doesn't make any sense for both of us to be lonely in the same city." </div>
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Can the church say AMEN?!</div>
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<b>In the new year, commit to make more time to connect. </b>Have coffee with that lady with which you enjoy those snatched 5 minute conversations after church. Go with a coworker to lunch. Walk around your 'hood and meet a few neighbors you've seen but never actually spoken to.</div>
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Community is vital to our souls, but it is also very challenging. And don't allow the illusion of social media to replace time actually connecting with others. <b>Social media is great, but it is not a replacement for looking beyond a steaming cup of coffee or tea into the eyes of a good friend, or sharing a meal with a family member or talking with neighbors on a beautiful, crisp day.</b></div>
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Make it a priority. I am.</div>
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<b>2. Expect to feel your losses in a deeper way during the holidays.</b></div>
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This Christmas will be the second I'll experience without my parents. When December rolled in, I found that I was feeling extra bluesy. After days of wondering "What is wrong with me?", a lightbulb flickered on and I remembered that I'm still grieving my folks. The reality is this: Christmas will never be the same without them.</div>
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We all have experienced loss, disappointment and trauma in our lives. That is a fact and a guarantee from the day we are born. <b>But there's something about the holidays that seems to amp up any losses we've already experienced, be it illness, marital and family difficulties or loss of a loved one. If we enter the season with challenges already looming around us - or even within us - those challenges will probably increase in intensity during the holidays.</b></div>
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For me, just recognizing this truth makes me feel a little less crazy and a little more normal. It helps me cope with any blues I might experience. </div>
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And it helps propel me to the third thing I wanted to share...</div>
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<b>3. Be willing to get help when needed.</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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There comes a time in our lives when we just get "stuck", as I call it. When we fall into an emotional rut, and just can't seem to climb, kick or fight our way out of it. </div>
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At that point, we have to move beyond pride, self-righteousness and religious cliques and find the help with need. For some of us, help might be sharing with a trusted friend/family member, a bible study group or a pastor. For some that help might come from spending intense, extended time with the Lord, in His word and in prayer. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And for some, after trying all that, we must reach out to a professional resource. <b>Counseling can be a lifesaver - literally. Talking with a skilled, compassionate, trained counselor can really propel us towards self-awareness and healing. </b>I can't recommend this enough for anyone stuck in an emotional rut. Sometimes we just need someone to help lift us up out of that rut. </div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>God is the true Healer, but just like a trained physician's hands, He can use the healing touch of an amazing counselor too. </b></div>
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I promise you. I'm a witness.</div>
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My wish this Christmas is that we all find HOPE during this and every holiday season.</div>
carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-63242086152882039832017-11-25T15:15:00.000-06:002017-11-25T15:19:26.709-06:00Toxic Charity: The Gamechanging Way to Engage Charity & Community Service<br />
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<br />
While my heart has been stirred towards community impact and development in recent years, I just read a book that spoke to my heart in a powerful way. <i>Toxic Charity</i> by Robert Lupton is a gamechanger for real.<br />
<br />
I don't have time to share every single point of this book, and you certainly don't have time to read every single point either, but I just have to share a few highlights. First of all, this book is for anyone who has the desire to effect change in his or her local community. It's for anyone who wants to see people living in poverty empowered, children being taught in substandard schools enfranchised and disintegrated families restored.<br />
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This is the change I want to see in my local community, in all 50 states of America, and all over the world. This is the change you want to see too, I'm sure.<br />
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However, <b>there is an enemy that's been working against this kind of family and community empowerment that you might not know about</b>. At the heart of this enemy is a desire to do good, to serve those less fortunate, to make a real lasting difference in the world.<br />
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<b>And this heart to do good is what makes it so hard to see its error.</b><br />
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The enemy I'm speaking of is something we Americans are asked to participate in almost every day of our lives. It's something that I have personally participated in my entire adult life and maybe you have too.<br />
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<b>This enemy is named CHARITY.</b><br />
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I know what you might be thinking. <i>Isn't charity a good thing? Aren't we supposed to give to those less fortunate than ourselves? Doesn't the Bible tell us to be charitable?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The simple answer to those questions is YES. We are supposed to give to those less fortunate than ourselves. <b>However, we must give mindfully, purposefully and responsibly. We must give in a way that improves the lives of our beneficiaries. We must give in a way that doesn't harm the very people we want to help.</b><br />
<br />
The opening paragraph of <i>Toxic Charity </i>runs out the gate with these words...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>In the United States, there's a growing scandal that we both refuse to see and actively perpetuate. What Americans avoid facing is that while we are very generous in charitable giving, much of that money is either waisted or actually harms the people it is targeted to help.</b></i></blockquote>
The old preachers used to say... If you can't say Amen, say Ouch! I said "ouch!" over and over again while reading this book thinking about how often I've gotten charitable giving wrong.<br />
<br />
AND how often our nonprofits get charitable giving wrong.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Toxic Charity </i>repeats an "Oath for Compassionate Service" that can serve as a measuring stick for our charitable giving programs.<br />
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The Oath for Compassionate Service</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;">Never do for the poor what they have (or could have) the capacity to do for themselves.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Limit one-way giving to emergency situations [like natural disasters].</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b>Strive to empower the poor</b> through employment, lending, and investing.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Subordinate self-interests to <b>the needs of those being served</b>.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b>Listen closely to those you seek to help</b>, especially to what is not being said.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Above all, do no harm.</li>
</ul>
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And from there Lupton, who has spent decades of his life in Atlanta partnering with communities neighborhood by neighborhood, proceeds to explain why our typical acts of charity harm the very people we want to help.<br />
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I'll give an example that spoke volumes to me, especially because I read it at the same time a local ministry in my city was sending emails about a Christmas program they've been doing for years. Lupton describes an initiative he began when he first moved to urban Atlanta. The program was simple. Well-meaning folks in the community would "adopt a family" during the holidays, buying toys for the precious children from lower income families. Sounds beautiful, right?<br />
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During these "Santa's helpers" deliveries, the children were ecstatic, ripping open their packages. The parents, on the other hand, were less thrilled, and the dads were often MIA. When Lupton inquired about the fathers' absences during these deliveries, this is what he discovered...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>...After organizing these kinds of Christmas charity events for years, I was witnessing a side I had never noticed before: how a father is emasculated in his own home in front of his wife and children for not being able to provide presents for his family, how a wife is forced to shield her children from their father's embarrassment, how children get the message that the "good stuff" comes from rich people out there and it is free.</b></i></blockquote>
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And this is the challenge of most of the charitable giving programs that we in the US organize and support. This kind of giving is heartfelt and gracious, but it can also be emasculating and disempowering to the recipients. And over a long period of time, it can actually do more harm than good.<br />
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Another way to approach the Santa's helpers initiative? A nonprofit can set up a Christmas "store" where community families shop for toys and gifts for their children at a very low cost. These toys and gifts are donated by those same Santa's helpers, then sold (not given) to parents at a cost way below market price. This way parents come home with those gifts as if they've shopped at the local WalMart, wrap those gifts and present them to their children on Christmas morning. The parents are now Santa's helpers, instead of local middle and upper class strangers from the community.<br />
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Everybody wins.<br />
<br />
And that's the bottom line of responsible charity. EVERYBODY wins, especially those who desperately need support, encouragement and empowerment.<br />
<br />
It only takes a little more thought, a little more planning and a LOT more conversations with the people we're wanting to help. You and I can help detoxify the charity in our communities and our churches.<br />
<br />
Step one is reading this book.**<br />
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** Step two towards supporting and engaging effective community development is watching <i>Poverty Inc.</i>, an equally powerful documentary currently on Netflix.<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-79574493962257061052017-10-29T14:32:00.001-05:002017-10-29T14:34:58.502-05:00STEP: The Inspiring Story of Grit, Advocacy & Community Impact<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last weekend my family and I watched <i>STEP</i>, a powerful documentary featuring a group of high school seniors from a public charter school for girls in Baltimore City. Directed by Amanda Lipitz, <i>Step</i> follows the real life story of the Baltimore Leadership School for Young Women's step team and the graduating seniors from the team. <b>The poignant portrayal led to an award at the Sundance Film Festival, and after watching it, I concur.</b><br />
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Disclaimer: Of course I'm a little partial to this story since Baltimore (pronounced Bal-de-more by natives - LOL) is my hometown. However, anyone with a heart for young people, for education and for witnessing others receive a "hand-up" in life would be inspired by this story.<br />
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Now before I list the reasons YOU should find this movie and watch it too**, I'll answer a question some of you might have right now...<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>What is a step team anyway???</i><br />
<br />
I'm so glad you asked!<br />
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A step team is similar to a dance or jump rope team. Popularized by historically black fraternities and sororities, "stepping" is an athletic and artistic form of movement that includes dance moves, clapping, stomping, etc. The key to stepping is that the steppers moves are coordinated, as they step in sync. There is no music - the steppers create the rhythm and musical accompaniment through stomping, clapping and sometimes rapping or chanting.<br />
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Okay, I hope that clears that up. Now on to why <i>Step</i> moved me so deeply...<br />
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The thing that stirred me and moved me to tears about <i>Step</i> was the commitment of this school to its students. The administrators and teachers were willing to walk with every single student - up treacherous mountains, through thickets of scary forests and down into dark valleys.<br />
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One student in particular, Blessin Giraldo, had a fascinating story. Blessin is a student we've all seen - extremely bright, talented and totally possessing the "X factor". You know what I mean... When you meet someone and know immediately that he or she just has "it". The "it" is difficult to name or even describe, but most strong leaders, world-changers and culture-shifters have this quality. And dear Lord, does Blessin have it.<br />
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And yet, in spite of all the "it" Miss Blessin has, she also has a lot of unfavorable things wrapped up in that package. She lives in a broken and dysfunctional home. She has a hot temper. She misses a bunch of school. And she doesn't study hard nor apply herself in class. This girl is drowning in a self-fulfilling prophesy of failure and on her way to nowhere.<br />
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There's so much talent and potential in that girl, you watch her story and want to scream. But just when you think you might scream your head off, the teachers, administrators and counselors wrap around this young woman who's drowning in a cycle of despair and poverty. They pull her out of the raging sea she's resigned herself to, and the passion with which they grab her from the waters touched me in a deep place.<br />
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This school fought for this girl, and it's obvious that they've fought for others before and others after her. <b>Somehow the folks at this school understood that THIS IS WAR - a war for the souls of our children and teenagers. A war that begins with experimentation and ends in drug addiction. A war that begins in curiosity and ends in sexual addiction and a string of unplanned pregnancies. A war that begins with despair and hopelessness and ends in suicide.</b><br />
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<b>A war that begins with generational poverty and ends in generational poverty.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Yes, this is war y'all. And our mantra must be, has to be, "No one left behind."</b><br />
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This was the mantra I heard in my spirit while watching<i> Step</i>. <i>No girl left behind. No family left behind. No community left behind. </i><br />
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The leaders of this school were not satisfied that the majority of their students attended school every day. They weren't celebrating that most of their girls were earning good grades. They didn't hang their hats on nearly every girl graduating and planning to attend college.<br />
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<b>This school ran after the ONE. </b><br />
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<b>The one wounded and bleeding. </b><br />
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<b>The one fallen on the battlefield.</b><br />
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This is the story of <i>Step</i>. The story that models how we too must run to care for <i>the ONE</i>. The story of why we must give, and assist and cry with the one who's hurting. This is why we must carry the one in risk of getting left behind.<br />
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<b>This is why we must reach into the deep sea of despair in our own communities and cities, and grab the hand of someone - maybe a child or teen - that's drowning right this very moment.</b><br />
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Because it is unacceptable for even one to to fall.<br />
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For even one to drown.<br />
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For even one to be counted a casualty.<br />
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<b>THIS is why our schools exist. </b><br />
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<b>THIS is why our churches exist. </b><br />
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<b>THIS is why the Body of Christ exists.</b><br />
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So what does this mean for you and for me? For the average folks that don't make laws or run the court system or hold a leadership position in the public school district?<br />
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So glad you asked...<br />
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Do you know a child in your neighborhood, child's class or church children's ministry that needs a "hand-up"? Do you know a family that needs one? Do you support a school, ministry or nonprofit reaching the kids and families in your community that are drowning in despair and poverty? Do you volunteer for any organizations committed to leaving no child, teen or family behind?<br />
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If you open your eyes, the opportunities right in your own community are endless.<br />
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<b>Come on y'all. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No kid left behind. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No teen left behind. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No family left behind. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>No community left behind.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Let's do this.</b><br />
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** FYI - We found<i> Step</i> on Redbox<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-86554930500628442342017-10-18T14:39:00.002-05:002017-10-18T14:39:12.613-05:00This Is Us: TRUTH about adoption and foster careSo... there's no denying one thing about me.<br />
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I am a huge advocate for vulnerable children.<br />
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This advocacy has led me to work for schools that serve lower income children, nonprofit ministries and today as coordinator for my church's adoption and foster care ministry.<br />
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It's led me to lead workshops and panels and write many, many blog posts about adoption and foster care.<br />
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It's also led me to become an adoptive momma.<br />
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Okay so... I'm kind of a fanatic about this issue.<br />
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So you can imagine my surprise and joy last year, when I viewed the first episode of one of my favorite shows and was immediately pulled into an amazing adoption story. For me the storyline of Randall, the adopted son of the leading characters in <i>This Is Us</i>, has brought the issue of adoption to prime time - finally.<br />
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For a girl that grew up on the '80s sitcom <i>Different Strokes</i>, that featured two black boys adopted by a wealthy white guy, I think a story like Randall's is overdue.<br />
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In Randall's adoption story we see the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the heartwarming and the heartbreaking.<br />
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In his story we see TRUTH.<br />
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<b>Because adoption is the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the heartwarming and the heartbreaking. Take it from an adoptive mom of two like me.</b><br />
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As if last season wasn't enough, this season of <i>This Is Us</i> has peeled open a new layer of truth - the truth of foster care. Randall and his wife Beth have decided to enter into the world of foster care, taking in a teenage girl whose mom has been incarcerated. We watch their new life unfold, and while it's still a Hollywood depiction, we see truth.<br />
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Here I want to point out 3 TRUTHS that I've witnessed in <i>This Is Us</i>...<br />
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<b>1. Love can't always move mountains, but it can get us over mountains together</b><br />
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One thing I love about <i>This Is Us</i> is Randall and Beth's marriage. They are honest and loving and real in a way that makes me love them both. They are educated and smart and successful <i>AND</i> they are absolutely and unapologetically African American. Beth rocks her natural hair with graceful poise, while telling Randall off like a million-dollar-an-hour corporate attorney.<br />
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<b>So of course they take on their foster care placement with poise, authenticity and love. They take it on like they take on all of life - with ride-or-die togetherness.</b><br />
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When my husband Anthony and I decided to adopt, we did so while wearing our most fashionable rose-colored glasses. I truly thought that love would conquer all, and that no matter what challenges our adopted child faced, we would stare down and tear down those challenges together as a family.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Today, I realize that love does not conquer all.</b> The love I have for my children doesn't take away the ache in their souls for their birth families. The love I feel for them doesn't make them feel less different from their peers and classmates being raised in their biological families. The love I give my children doesn't eradicate their feelings of abandonment.<br />
<br />
<b>And yet they desperately need our love.</b> Adopted and foster children often worry that they were relinquished by their birth parents because they are damaged, unworthy - unlovable. After all, if they were beautiful, smart and perfect, their birth parents would have wanted to parent them.<br />
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For this reason, our children need to feel loved and accepted by us, no matter what. They need to know that even when they mess up, we still love them. They need to know that we love them enough to stay with them - forever.<br />
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<b>That we will never leave them.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Not ever.</b><br />
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<b>2. Adoption and foster care will bring great highs and great lows</b><br />
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Last week in <i>This Is Us</i>, Beth spoke those words almost verbatim while she and Randall discussed their new foster daughter. She mentioned something along the lines of, "Well everyone said this is how it would be. They said we'd have lots of highs and lots of lows."<br />
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I can remember the joy of "Gotcha Day" - the day we brought our adopted children home - like it was yesterday. By the time we adopted, I had already experienced giving birth to my oldest son Kalin. I already knew the joy of childbirth and parenthood.<br />
<br />
And yet adoption brought a different kind of joy. On the day we officially adopted Christian I looked into his big brown eyes, and I marveled at the beauty of my new baby boy. He was gorgeous, and we had nothing to do with it. He was a mystery, and I was thrilled, knowing I'd have a lifetime of discovering who God had created him to be. It was exciting in a new way, and I couldn't wait to begin this new adventure.<br />
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I felt a similar joy, excitement and wonder when we brought our Joelle home two years later. <i>Who is this precious baby girl?</i> I wondered. Again, I couldn't wait for this new adventure.<br />
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<b>Both times, however, I was ill-prepared for the challenges of this adventure. I wasn't prepared for the heart-wrenching conversations, for seeing my child crying himself to sleep, for the contagious angst and sadness of abandonment and separation from their first families.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I was ready for the highs, but dear God, so unready for the lows.</b><br />
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And now I lean in to God DAILY for the strength to make through the lows, knowing He is able, even when I am not.<br />
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<b>3. Adoption and foster care requires ALL of me - FOREVER</b><br />
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When Beth pulls out their ancient baby monitor, to keep tabs of their newest family member throughout their first night together, I smiled and nodded. I get it. They know they will grow to love and accept this young girl, but on that first night, she is a stranger to them and their precious biological daughters. This small gesture reminds me that parenthood, and all its weight and responsibility, never ever end.<br />
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<b>We don't put away the baby monitor when the baby grows up.</b><br />
<br />
If I've heard one thing over and over again from older parents, it's that you never stop being a mom or dad. No matter how grown our kids become, we still love them and want to the best for them and kinda want to do it all for them - forever.<br />
<br />
Case in point... Monday night my son went to a Tennessee Titans game. The weather had just taken a turn for fall, and Anthony said to me, "Did you check to see if Kalin took a jacket to the game?"<br />
<br />
I chuckled and said, "You know I was dying to text him and see if he had a jacket, but forced myself not to. At some point my big boy's going to have to figure out when to wear a jacket to a football game."<br />
<br />
<b>So if Ant and I are any indication, we parents have to release and allow our children to grow up and become adults. Yet we still want to guide them, advise them, help them find their way. We still pray as hard for them - maybe harder than when they were little, when we could trace their every move.</b><br />
<br />
Adoption and foster care are no different.<br />
<br />
You never stop having the conversations about their birth mom's choice to place her was a loving choice. How she chose life for him, when she certainly had other alternatives. You never stop reminding them that their moms probably think and wonder about them every day - and a whole bunch on their birthdays. You never stop reminding them that they were placed for adoption because of sin and imperfection in the world and in their birth parents' lives, not because of their personal sins and imperfections.<br />
<br />
And sometimes, it seems like you'll never stop wiping tears.<br />
<br />
But just like we have become the number one supporters in our 20-year-old son's life, instead of holding his hand and clearing his way, we will one day move to the sidelines of our adopted children's lives. They will move away, build lives for themselves, delve into their passions and callings, and we will hopefully be consulted occasionally for advise and support. They will always be our children, and we will alway fight for and with them. Yet, we will do it by invitation only.<br />
<br />
<b>And we pray they invite us often.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>After all, in our hearts, we still haven't put the baby monitor away either.</b>carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-38380291031352329312017-09-16T16:04:00.001-05:002017-09-16T16:04:42.724-05:00Legacy: What Will We Leave the World?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been thinking about one word a lot recently... LEGACY. My thoughts can be traced to a recent event in my life.<br />
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This past week I spent time in my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland. I traveled home for my Uncle Alvis's funeral on this past Monday. His funeral was one of the most precious I've ever attended. The room was filled with people whose lives have been touched one way or another by Uncle Alvis. Family members, colleagues, neighbors, fellow church members -- we all crammed into his A.M.E. (African Methodist Episcopal) church home to reminisce and illuminate a life fully lived.<br />
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My uncle spent his life serving college students as a professor in the School of Social Work at Howard University in Washington D.C. (my alma mater, by the way - HU!!!). As the president of Allen University in Columbia, South Carolina for a short time. As a member of the peace corps in Liberia, West Africa (which my family and I visited when I was only 4 years old). As a social activist for African Americans in our nation's capital and beyond. As a political enthusiast (and Republican, like my Dad, believe or not). As a family historian and writer.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>As a man who constantly searched for opportunities to lift up the poor, the hungry, the outcast. </b><br />
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As I sat, reminiscing over these things that I already knew he had accomplished, an interesting thought came to me. I had always wondered about the origins of the "Mother Teresa" deep in my soul. I know my beautiful <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2016/02/remembering-my-mom-remembering-her-words.html" target="_blank">Mom</a> and <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/01/a-tribute-to-my-daddy-and-his-legacy.html" target="_blank">Dad</a> had great influence for sure. Interestingly, I believe my Uncle Alvis did too.<br />
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As I sat in my uncle's funeral, I also thought about the word LEGACY.<br />
<br />
<b>This one word makes me go deep, makes me do a heart-check and makes me ask some hard questions. </b>When I leave this world, what will I leave in my absence? Will I have made the places I frequented better than when I arrived? Will I have encouraged, supported and loved the people I'm blessed to have in my life - even the ones that might be difficult to love at times? <b>Will I have changed the world for the better, even in my little corner of the world?</b><br />
<br />
I am in a period of rebooting of sorts. I'm forty (eh hem...) now. For me, it is time to focus on making this life count, on making an impact for God's kingdom, on seizing opportunities to lift up others in my little corner of the world.<br />
<br />
One way I'm wanting to do this is to WRITE. For over a decade, I've focused on ministry and nonprofit work. This I will continue to do, for sure.<br />
<br />
<b>But the one question I heard over and over again when I was in Maryland/Washington D.C. was this... "Are you still writing?"</b><br />
<br />
Apparently God's given me a mission here, as small as it may be. I may not have a huge platform. I may not have thousands of Twitter followers. I may not have droves people that would flock to amazon.com to purchase a book written by me. But God keeps giving me something to say. He keeps encouraging me through others to persist and press and prod. He keeps exhorting me to sit my rear in a chair, put my fingers on my laptop keyboard and WRITE.<br />
<br />
And so I have. And so I will. Even when everything in me tells me that it's not enough. That there are more important things that need doing. That I should spend my time and energy elsewhere.<br />
<br />
<b>The things that God puts in us are the things that He wants us to give back to the world. </b>What has God put in <i>you</i>? What has He given <i>you</i> to do? <b>Think of all the books that would be written, paintings that would be painted, words that would be spoken, ministries and business that would be birthed - if only we examined our hearts to find the thing God has placed in us. </b><br />
<br />
So many things can impede us... Fear. Discouragement. Busyness.<br />
<br />
<b>Yet so many things can propel us... </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>A calling from God. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Family and friends cheering us on. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Knowing that someone, somewhere needs to read, see, feel, experience whatever it is we have to give.</b><br />
<br />
What else propels us? LEGACY. Knowing that this life on earth is brief and short. That we will have - at most - 80, 90, 100 years here to make a difference.<br />
<br />
Even the Bible speaks to the brevity of life...<br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">"Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes."*</span></div>
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Life is short. One day we will all walk the road my uncle, my mom, my dad and many, many others have walked. We will leave this earth to join those who have gone before us in heaven. For those who know the Lord, it will be a day of celebration for sure. </div>
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<b>When that day comes, may it also be a day of remembrance. A day that our family and friends remember a life lived to the full. A life lived for others. A life lived pouring out the things that God has placed in us not to hoard or preserve, but to share with the world.</b></div>
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<b>A life lived with the end in mind. </b></div>
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<b>That, my Friend, is LEGACY.</b></div>
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* James 4:14</div>
carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-33524694332942932132017-09-09T17:15:00.000-05:002017-09-09T17:15:02.065-05:00DACA - Speaking Up for the Dreamers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
DACA...<br />
<br />
Also known as the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals.<br />
<br />
There's been a lot of talk on both sides about DACA recently. The loudest voice has been that of President Trump, who this past week rescinded the DACA program, charging Congress with the task of creating policy to fix the program.<br />
<br />
I could say so much about this.<br />
<br />
I could list the many scriptures that encourage us to welcome and care for the alien, stranger or immigrant, depending on your favorite translation of the bible.<br />
<br />
In fact, <a href="http://welcomingthestranger.com/wp_welcoming/learn-and-discern/scripture-and-immigration" target="_blank">according World Relief Global</a>...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<b>"The Bible has a <i>lot</i> to say about immigrants and immigration. In fact, the Hebrew word <i>ger</i>, the closest word to our concept of an immigrant, appears 92 times in the Old Testament alone."</b></blockquote>
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I could also quote what pastors, leaders, politicians and entertainers are saying about DACA. </div>
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Again, there's so much I could say about this issue.</div>
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But today, I'll keep it short by sharing a poem I saw hanging on the walls of <a href="https://www.civilandhumanrights.org/" target="_blank">The Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta</a>. </div>
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It's a poem written by Martin Niemoller, a prominent German Protestant pastor who emerged as an outspoken foe of Adolf Hitler and spent the last seven years of Nazi rule in concentration camps.</div>
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This poem is a reminder that whenever I have the opportunity to speak up for the rights of another human being, I must speak.</div>
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It's a reminder that whenever YOU have the opportunity to speak up for the rights of another human being, you too must speak...</div>
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<b><i>First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out -</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Because I was not a Socialist.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i>Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out -</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Because I was not a Trade Unionist.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i>Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out -</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Because I was not a Jew.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i>Then they came for me -</i></b></div>
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<b><i>And there was no one left to speak for me.</i></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Martin Niemoller, Holocaust Survivor</b></div>
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The day may come when we desperately need someone to speak for us. </div>
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Until then, may we speak out for those who need our voices today.</div>
carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-23044307784805174392017-09-02T14:38:00.000-05:002017-09-02T14:54:59.546-05:00Hurricane Harvey: A Wake Up Call for a Divided Nation<b>Hurricane Harvey is a national tragedy. </b><br />
<br />
If you're like me, you've watched the footage through tears - footage of ravaged homes, destroyed landscapes and lost lives. Raising four children of my own, I struggled to watch an interview with the mom who lost four children in Harvey. My heart breaks for her and so many others.<br />
<br />
Yet I had a thought while watching the many Texans that stepped up to the call to help their fellow Texans during the storm and in its aftermath...<br />
<br />
<b>Hurricane Harvey might be a wake up call.</b><br />
<br />
I believe Hurricane Harvey, and tragedies like it, could be a wake up call for a nation that's becoming more and more polarized. You see this polarization everywhere...<br />
<br />
CNN, Fox <i>and</i> MSNBC news. Our Twitter feeds. And should I even mention the vicious comments and fights on Facebook these days?<br />
<br />
Just name the topic, and folks are fighting over it - Black Lives Matter, Civil War monuments, immigration, Alt-right marches and demonstrations, and on and on...<br />
<br />
Gone are the days when we can discuss, even debate, an issue and say, "You know I totally hear you. But let's just agree to disagree."<br />
<br />
<b>People are no longer agreeing to disagree.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>People are no longer agreeing about <i>anything</i>, it seems.</b><br />
<br />
Everywhere we look - especially if we look to social media with any regularity - someone is drawing a line in the sand. Standing back, crossing their arms and saying, "Okay so... which side do <i>YOU</i> choose? You are either for me or against me."<br />
<br />
I often wonder, why can't we walk together, live together, worship together when we have differing political and social views? Why do we have step on, <i>stomp on</i> others, when their views are different from ours?<br />
<br />
Yesterday I read these words from rapper Lecrae in Relevant Magazine, discussing the opposition he faced from brothers and sisters in Christ who disagreed with his position on various social justice issues...<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>"Why can't I talk about what it's like to be a black man in America?</b></i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Because people say, 'Oh, no! That's too black.'</b></i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>If you suffocate my blackness, you've got to realize that's supremacy. ... But because of the tension within American history with blacks and whites, you talk about blackness too much and in some people's minds, it means you're anti-white or if you talk about police brutality, you're all of a sudden anti-police. We don't do well with complexity." </b></i></blockquote>
Amen Brother.<br />
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Our country is more complex than ever. And yes, "we don't do well with complexity".<br />
<br />
...Until a catastrophic event unleashes on a city, state or nation - a catastrophic event like Hurricane Harvey.<br />
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<b>When floods rise and winds tear through brick walls and people fear for their lives, it no longer matters whether the person clinging to life beside you is black or white. Rich or poor. Democrat or Republican. Documented or undocumented.</b><br />
<br />
All that matters is that I am a human soul that wants to live, to thrive. And when I see you next to me, clinging to your life as well, I want <i>you </i>to live, to thrive. I want to do everything I can to help you live and thrive. I am willing to sacrifice my own life to protect you, to lift you up.<br />
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It no longer matters how we are different. It no longer matters what opposing views we hold. It no longer matters what side of the line in the sand you stand on.<br />
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In tragedies like Hurricane Harvey, people of all colors, cultures and political camps, come together for one purpose, one goal. For the sake of survival, for the preservation of the human soul, all kinds of people walk across the line in the sand and choose to stand together, hand in hand.<br />
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<b>Imagine if we, the Church, chose to walk across that sand every day of our lives.</b><br />
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We can learn a lot from Hurricane Harvey.<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-29291684045590213412016-09-11T10:43:00.000-05:002016-09-11T21:52:46.843-05:00Stand Sunday - A Day to Stand Up for Foster Children<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There's a movement rising up...</div>
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A movement that will address a huge issue in the US. </div>
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An issue that affects over 400,000 children each year.</div>
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<b>400,000 plus children and teens. That's more than the population of New Orleans. </b></div>
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The issue? </div>
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<b>Foster care.</b></div>
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For many years now, Christians around the world have dedicated one Sunday a year to address the issues of orphans around the world. This Sunday is <a href="https://cafo.org/orphansunday/">Orphan Sunday</a> - dedicated to the over 140 million orphans around the world.</div>
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I've been blessed to participate in Orphan Sunday in my local church for many years now. I love speaking about this issue. I love calling the Church to rise up and "defend the cause of the fatherless".</div>
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Well this year a new movement has begun. </div>
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<b>It's a movement to call the Church to continue to rise up for orphans - the "orphans" in our cities, our communities, our own backyards. The local "orphan". We know them as foster children.</b></div>
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I've had the pleasure of working with a fiery pastor from Texas that's been working for the cause of foster children for decades now. <a href="https://cafo.org/speaker/bishop-aaron-blake/">Bishop Aaron Blake</a>, pastor of <a href="http://greaterfaithcommunitychu.homestead.com/Leadership.html">Greater Faith Community Church</a> is the kind of man who does more than preach sermons about the cause of foster children in his community and around the country. </div>
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He lives his sermons.</div>
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Bishop Blake and his wife Mary have opened their home to several young men over the years -- young men that very likely would have bounced from foster home to foster home. Or they may have landed in group homes or shelters. Instead, the Blakes opened their home. They have loved these young men, trained these young men and raised them as their own.</div>
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Bishop Blake has called his church to do the same. Aware that not everyone is called to foster a child through the state system, he has challenged his church members to <i>do something </i>for foster children in their community. Every year he makes a fervent call to his members, asking them to "Stand Up" for children in local foster care.</div>
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<b>One such Sunday, he posed this question to his congregation: "Who will stand with me to defend, care and support abused, abandoned and neglected children in our community?"</b></div>
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At the end of this charge each year, Greater Faith church members literally stand up - one by one. They commit to foster or adopt. They commit to support other families that foster or adopt. They commit to serve foster children through local ministries. They commit to pray. </div>
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<b>They commit to CARE.</b></div>
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A new movement has grown out of this passion to care for foster children - <a href="https://cafo.org/2016/08/05/one-question-pastor-changed-things-hundreds-foster-care/">STAND SUNDAY</a>. <b>Stand Sunday is an Initiative newly formed by the Christian Alliance for Orphans (CAFO).</b> Stand Sunday will coincide with Orphan Sunday on <b>Sunday, November 13 this year</b>, and will provide churches and Christians with a heart to serve children in US foster care a platform, <a href="https://cafo.org/orphansunday/resources/foster-care-resources/">resources</a> and a message.</div>
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So... I end this post with the same question that Bishop Blake posed to his congregation...</div>
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<b>Who will stand <i>with me</i> to defend, care and support abused, abandoned and neglected children in the United States?</b></div>
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<b>Will <i>YOU</i> stand?</b></div>
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-47818922861947306042016-08-13T15:28:00.000-05:002016-08-13T15:28:37.663-05:00Diversity and the OlympicsIn July I shared a post titled <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-us-racial-divide-where-do-we-begin.html">"The US Racial Divide - Where Do We Begin?"</a> that began with these words, <i>"This week was one of the most discouraging in our country in some time." </i><b>I wrote this post in the aftermath of glaring racial tensions around the country. </b>In the aftermath of several African American men gunned down by police officers. In the aftermath of police officers being murdered in the same city streets they had sworn to protect and serve.<br />
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Since that posting, there have been more mass shootings, more hatred and more racial tensions in our country. More lives have been lost in senseless violence. We are a long way from solving these issues.<br />
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<b>Yet today I wanted to share some good news in the midst of all the horrible.</b><br />
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Last week I was excited to share a perspective of the 2016 Summer Olympic Games that I'd heard bits and pieces of leading up to the Games. I love a wonderful foster care or adoption story, so in <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2016_08_01_archive.html">"Foster care and the Olympics"</a> I shared the backstories of Olympians Simone Biles, Tori Bowie and Carlin Isles. <b>Backstories that include time spent in foster care during their childhoods. Backstories that also included loving people that came alongside them to raise them, love them and become the parents they were all desperately needing.</b><br />
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And now I must state the obvious. <b>EVERY child needs loving parents. </b><br />
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<b>EVERY. SINGLE. CHILD.</b><br />
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I won't rehash last week's post again today, but I do want to illuminate something else I've noticed about the Olympics this year in Rio. It's something else I'm very passionate about. Something that our country forever struggles to get right.<br />
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It's something that even the Church doesn't get quite right. Something that Christian nonprofits struggle with even more, with minority people hugely underrepresented in most Christian nonprofits, especially in leadership roles.<br />
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The thing I want to discuss today? <b>DIVERSITY and the Olympics.</b><br />
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As I watched the US Olympic trials and celebrated with the five girls chosen to flip and twirl on the Olympic gymnastics stage, I noticed something quite beautiful. <b>These girls were a beautiful representation of the various hues, ethnicities and cultures of our country. </b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Amazing "Final Five"</td></tr>
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<b>Simone Biles, Gabby Douglas, Laurie Hernandez, Madison Kocian, Aly Raisman. These girls are diverse in every way. They are amazing athletes. They are strong young ladies. They are each amazingly beautiful. </b><br />
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And I couldn't be happier for them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olympic Swimmer Simone Manuel</td></tr>
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<b>One more highlight during the Summer Games...</b> <b>another Olympic rock star named Simone.</b><br />
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Thursday night, <b>I screamed as I watched Simone Manuel stroke her way to first-place in the Women's 100-meter Freestyle. </b>I thought she'd clinch a silver or bronze <i>maybe</i>, but that baby girl pushed through the last seconds of that race and tied for a gold.<br />
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<b>Simone made history with this win, becoming the first African American woman to win an Olympic gold medal in individual swimming. </b>Swimming has been a largely Caucasian sport for multiple reasons, like those highlighted in a <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-37057236">recent BBC article</a>.<br />
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The magnitude of her win wasn't lost on Simone who said,<b> <i>"This medal is not just for me, it's for some of the African Americans who have been before me and been inspirations. I hope I can be an inspiration for others. This medal is for the people who come behind me and get into the sport."</i></b><br />
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Despite racial disparities that still exist in the US, seeing these young people of color represent Red, White and Blue did my heart so much good.<br />
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<b>We've got a long way to go, but we've come a long way too.</b><br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-38678983377681299362016-08-06T17:00:00.000-05:002016-08-07T09:27:52.948-05:00Foster Care and the Olympics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I LOVE the Olympic Games - both the winter and summer games. Every two years, I'm captivated by the national pride, physical strength, mental endurance and emotional resilience of the athletes from all over the world. Last night I sat captivated while watching the Olympics opening ceremony. Brasilians* are beautiful, spirited and warm people, and I fell in love with Brasil over a decade ago when my son Kalin and I served orphans and vulnerable children on a mission's trip there.</div>
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<b>Another love of mine - following the lives of former foster children.</b> My heart is always moved to hear the stories of people - young and old - whose lives began with so much stacked against them. Inevitably, while hearing the "how did they get here?" stories shared during the Olympics trials, <b>I've discovered some amazing Olympians whose lives have been touched by foster care and/or adoption in some way. </b></div>
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And you know I had to share... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFNzBXbLx8Lx_Sa4FaOhK1i-1hqnB5uDmOnbtwKLV1yZLruqXwLAQGHc8ptLK2DgbpTUYl3-KVqrUeURXlsIIb1RFG9FQC-b-EyHrGaMzU3ST2mLuVXkOQErnm2kDkdjIIBIFuYHAec6R/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFNzBXbLx8Lx_Sa4FaOhK1i-1hqnB5uDmOnbtwKLV1yZLruqXwLAQGHc8ptLK2DgbpTUYl3-KVqrUeURXlsIIb1RFG9FQC-b-EyHrGaMzU3ST2mLuVXkOQErnm2kDkdjIIBIFuYHAec6R/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Simone Biles ~ Gymnastics</span></div>
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This 4-foot-9 inch powerhouse is all the rage this year. During the Olympic trials this year - of which my daughter Jada and I watched every second - the 19-year-old dominated, finishing first in the all-around gymnastics competition. Simone soars through the air like no other. Her power is undeniable. As she owned the vault during the Olympic trials, sports commentators consistently marveled, "No female gymnast has done this before." </div>
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<b>This girl is amazing.</b></div>
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And yet her life started off much less secure than her standing on the world stage of gymnastics. Simone's biological father abandoned her while she was very young, and her biological mother struggled with drug and alcohol abuse. Simone and her sister Adria, unfortunately landed in the Ohio foster care system. <b>In 2002, Simone's grandparents, Ron and Nellie Biles, stepped up to take in their granddaughters, moving them to Spring, Texas. </b></div>
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A year later, a 6-year-old Simone would experience another life-changing event. On a daycare field trip to a gym, the gym staff observed her imitating other gymnasts. The gym sent a letter home to Simone's new parents, requesting she join tumbling or gymnastics.</div>
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And the rest, as they say, is history...</div>
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I must admit, I don't usually follow the U.S. Rugby Olympics Team, so I had never heard of Carlin - until today. I was instantly inspired by this 26-year-old sprinter-turned-rugby player. After achieving great success in football and track, his first year in rugby was only 4 years ago. He has already been dubbed "the fastest man in rugby".</div>
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Yet Carlin's life began with heartache. <b>He spent the first years of his life in Ohio foster care, and remembers days that he was so hungry he would eat dog food to survive.</b> He and his twin sister Cambra watched while a police officer drove away with their birth mother in the back of his car. <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2016/06/03/sport/carlin-isles-rugby-sevens-olympics-athletics/">Carlin told CNN</a> his life <i><b>"was basically survival of the fittest. I had to fight. I went from home to poor schooling - I had to eat dog food. We didn't celebrate birthdays, Christmases or anything like that."</b></i></div>
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At age 8, Carlin and his sister were adopted by a loving couple, Starlett and Charles Isles. Carlin says, <i>"My parents have always been there for me."</i> No doubt they'll be supporting their talented son as he dominates on the rugby field in Rio.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Frentorish "Tori" Bowie - Track</span></div>
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I can't tell you how much I rooted for this young woman during the Olympic trials. I hadn't heard about Tori until the trials, but she's not the kind of athlete you forget. And as much as I love Allyson Felix, who made her mark in London during the 2012 Summer Olympics, I couldn't help but scream for Tori when she edged Allyson out of the 200m trials by .01 second. Her 3rd-place win secured 25-year-old Tori's spot for the 200m in Rio.</div>
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Like Simone and Carlin, Tori also spent part of her early life in Mississippi foster care - albeit brief. <b>As a 2-year-old toddler, Tori spent a short time in foster care, when her mother was unable to care for her and her sister Tamarra. Her grandmother Bobbie Smith took her young granddaughters in, taking over for their troubled mom and a dad that was mostly absent from their lives. </b>A natural athlete, Tori played basketball and moved on to track in high school, being named All-State Basketball and Track. Incidentally her father reentered her life when she began her track career, which was great timing since he had excelled as a long jumper in high school.</div>
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<b>Her loving Grandmama might be as responsible for Tori's road to Rio as her speed and athleticism.</b> "I encouraged them to go to school, don't think about boys at a young age, and to do good," <a href="http://www.people.com/people/package/article/0,,20996464_21018725,00.html">Tori's grandmother told NBC</a>. "And they took my advice." </div>
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Great advice. </div>
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And my advice to you? </div>
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Don't miss Tori or Simone or Carlin during the Summer Olympics in Rio.</div>
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* Native Brasilians spell their country with and "s" instead of a "z".</div>
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carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-12541678219901354242016-07-10T10:51:00.000-05:002016-07-10T10:51:19.227-05:00The Racial Divide: Where Do We Begin? Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday my heart was so grieved over the tumultuous events throughout the week, that I felt I had to share my heart here. So I posted <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2016/07/the-us-racial-divide-where-do-we-begin.html">The Racial Divide: Where Do We Begin? </a>yesterday, hoping to encourage us as Brothers and Sisters in Christ to love one another well during these times.<br />
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Love digs deep. Love is costly. Love calls us to live not only for our own benefit and welfare, but for the benefit and welfare of others.<br />
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<b>Yesterday I felt called to call us all to LOVE one another during these times. It's what I believe our Father expects of us, now more than ever.</b><br />
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Today, I feel called to inspire us to do one more thing. This is perhaps the most important thing we can do right now. This is perhaps the real starting point. I believe I took it for granted that God's people were already doing this. I took for granted that it didn't need to be said.<br />
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Then I read a Facebook post from a man I call my "Big Bro". His words were poignant and powerful. <b>His words reminded me that these are times when nothing can be taken for granted. All truth must be said and shared - LOVE.</b><br />
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Here... His thoughts:<br />
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"I have read the news articles and posts here in response to the news of recent days. I have read of suggestions for protests, marches, recalling our legislators, add and modify legislations, calls for "dialogue", sensitivity training, additional training, body cameras, youth centers, prison reform... whew... NONE OF THESE WILL EFFECT A LASTING AND POSITIVE RESULT. <b>To my friends who believe in Jesus Christ, the ONLY solution is prayer. The Bible says "and the government shall be upon His shoulders...", not the other way around. </b>As much as I love and respect social justice as a ministry I believe that this country, and down to our community are in need of a focus that has not been experienced in quite some time. Therefore I am asking my preacher friends to point out to their congregations s<b>cripture that will (1) get us through this period and (2) offer solutions based on prayer and supplication. </b>I no longer have faith in our government... to effect change in our quality of life. '<b>MY faith is built on nothing less...'</b>"<br />
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<b>As my Brother has said, we must run to <i>the Father, His Word</i> and<i> Prayer</i> like never before.</b><br />
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<b>HE is the answer.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Today.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>And always.</b><br />
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Amen and Amen.<br />
<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-52179230998849643602016-07-09T16:53:00.002-05:002016-07-09T16:53:46.937-05:00The US Racial Divide - Where do we Begin?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week was one of the most discouraging in our country in some time.<br />
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Sure we've lived through deadlier weeks - soldiers falling while fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan, 9/11, the Boston Marathon Massacre...<br />
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And yet there's something that darkens the heart and minds of Americans when <b>we witness fellow citizens - especially our young African American males - gunned down in the street and during routine traffic stops. </b><br />
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There's something that oppresses the human psyche when w<b>e witness police officers, charged with the oath to <i>protect and serve</i>, gunned down and murdered by a gunman motivated by hatred and racism. </b>(And as a military veteran that served in Afghanistan, possibly out of mental illness and PTSD.)<br />
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There's something hugely wrong about weeks like this...<br />
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And yet we are a resilient people. We have persevered through many difficult times. We have stood together and marched together, hand-in-hand, in solidarity of heart and mind.<br />
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We can make it through these challenging times as well. We can rise up from these ashes - better, stronger, more unified even.<br />
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How, you ask?<br />
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Well I don't have all the answers or every single step, but I believe our rise <i>begins </i>with one word.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Empathy.</b><br />
<br />
As we examine the cultural-transforming power of the US Civil Rights Movement of the 1950's and 1960's, it is impossible to miss the varying hues of people that actively participated in mass marches, freedom rides and sit-ins at "whites-only" lunch counters. <b>African Americans were joined by Caucasian and Jewish brothers and sisters that lent their presence and their voices.</b> <b>They were joined by politicians that fought bigotry and status-quo mentality to lobby for and sign legislation that afforded African Americans the freedoms we experience today.</b><br />
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America will rise or fall as one. We are inseparable in respect to our fate as a country. <b>We will self-destruct if we continue to fight one another. White vs. Black. Police officer vs. civilian. Republican vs. Democrat. </b><br />
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One way to empathize? We should all respect and support the <i>Black Lives Matter</i> Movement. Doing so does not negate that "All Lives Matter". It only confirms that fact.<br />
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We must march together, hand-in-hand in solidarity of heart and mind. We must use our voices to speak against the disparity of our penal system that lands a larger percentage of African American men in jail than any other race.* We must speak against a culture where a person is viewed as a threat simply because of his dark skin. We must speak against a social system that dictates a child's destiny largely because of the color of her skin or the strength of his parents' bank account, assets and financial portfolio.<br />
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<b>We must admit that there is such a thing as "White Privilege". Can we just start there?</b><br />
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And in the words of that great philosopher Forrest Gump... "That's all I have to say about that."<br />
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This week, I was encouraged by so many of my brothers and sisters of a lighter hue, men and women that spoke out against the violence and injustice of this week. I'd like to share a powerful Facebook post written by a dear sister-friend of mine who "gets it" (and happens to be Caucasian).<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I am shocked and deeply disturbed at the assassinations caught on video of two African American men by white police officers over the past few days. <b>I have no doubt that if they had been white, they would be alive. </b>I can't really describe my disgust accurately with words. Then, the premeditated assassination of 5 white police officers. Horrible. What can we do if we are white? <b>Pray for insight and for courage to speak up for our brothers and sisters of color. Become educated about the reality of the often covert and unrecognized racial oppression in our country. White privilege is invisible to us because it's all we know.</b> I actually had a white, blond haired, blue eyed man deny to me that white privilege exists as recently as 3 months ago. <b>Get educated! And LOVE others like never before. </b>Praying for change and peace in our country." </blockquote>
I will end this post with my sister's words. <b>We must ALL get educated. We must speak up when others around us are oppressed or denied basic liberties. And we must LOVE others like never before.</b><br />
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Amen and amen.<br />
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* According to the <i>NAACP's </i><a href="http://www.naacp.org/pages/criminal-justice-fact-sheet">"Criminal Justice Fact Sheet"</a>, African Americans are incarcerated at nearly six times the rate of their Caucasian counterparts. Click the above link to see even more eye-opening stats like these.<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-76485007800381597412016-07-03T09:31:00.001-05:002016-07-03T09:31:25.520-05:00Farewell Elie Wiesel - Your Words Still Speak<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My heart broke at the news yesterday...<br />
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<b>Elie Wiesel, writer, professor and human rights activist, passed away yesterday, at the age of 87.</b><br />
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I don't remember when I was first introduced to Elie, but I do remember seeing him interviewed on <i>The Oprah Winfrey Show</i>. I also remember watching footage of his tour of the concentration camp he had endured and survived at the young age of 15. I still remember the pain in his eyes.<br />
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I also remember reading his book <i>Night</i> for the first time.<br />
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<b>I wept every night as I turned the pages of Elie's retelling of his young life as a young Jewish boy. </b>His sister and mother were killed upon arrival to Auschwitz concentration camp. After being transferred to the Buchenwald concentration camp alongside his father, Elie watched his captors beat his father mercilessly. He also watched his father die before his eyes, his spirit nearly destroyed by the helplessness and shame he felt.<br />
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His father died only weeks before Buchenwald was liberated.<br />
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Night ruined me. I couldn't fathom the horrors that so many faced during that period in history. I couldn't understand how human beings could mistreat other human beings so. <b>I wanted justice for the bodies and souls lost during the Holocaust. I was furious.</b><br />
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And then I read the rest of the story...<br />
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After Elie survived the concentration camps and the horrors and pain that accompanied them, after he survived the deaths of his mother, father and sister, after he survived being orphaned following the Holocaust, with no parents or living relatives to care for him -- he made a conscious choice.<br />
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<b>He chose to live.</b><br />
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<b>Elie Wiesel chose to tell his story. He chose to teach others. He chose to forgive. </b><b>He chose to love.</b><br />
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<b>And he chose to fight for justice for other people around the world. He became a voice for those who had no voice.</b><br />
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So much so, that in 1986, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for raising his voice against violence, repression and racism.<br />
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When awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, Elie shared some powerful and memorable words. In this excerpt, he speaks of the teenage boy that he was, the boy that emerged from the pain of those concentration camps:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I remember: he asked his father: 'Can this be true?' This is the 20th Century, not the Middle Ages. <b>Who would allow such crimes to be committed?</b> <b>How could the world remain silent?</b> And now the boy is turning to me: 'Tell me,' he asks. 'What have you done with my future? What have you done with your life?<b>' </b>And I tell him that I have tried. That I have tried to keep memory alive, that I have tried to fight those who would forget.<b> Because if we forget, we are guilty, we are accomplices. </b>And then I explained to him how naive we were, that the world did know and remain silent."</blockquote>
He went on to say... <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>"And that is why I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.</b> Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. <b>Wherever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe</b>."</blockquote>
Many years ago, Elie Wiesel encouraged me to take sides. To interfere. To make the place where other people are being persecuted or forgotten - to make that place, right then, the center of the universe.<br />
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What side should I take today? Where should I interfere? Where should I go to aid the persecuted and forgotten?<br />
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This is a question I ask myself today, in honor and memory of my hero and friend, Elie Wiesel.<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-29821316250468256672016-06-18T15:06:00.000-05:002016-06-18T15:06:39.514-05:00A Father's Day Message to the Fathers That Mourn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't fully understand what happens inside.<br />
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I can't explain the shift.<br />
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But it seems that when we experience loss, our eyes are opened to others around us that have lost as well. <b>We feel just a little deeper for those experiencing pain. We are more empathetic, more sensitive, more aware somehow.</b><br />
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Living through loss can be devastating. I've share a lot about the loss I experienced in 2015, when my <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/02/missing-my-mom-remembering-my-mom.html">Mom</a> and <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/01/a-tribute-to-my-daddy-and-his-legacy.html">Dad </a>became very ill and passed away three weeks apart from one another.<br />
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Since then, I've had days when my grief followed me around like a storm cloud, threatening to send a lightening bolt right through the heart of me.<br />
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Days that storms brought thunder that shook the ground beneath my feet, threatening to upend me.<br />
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Days that I've moved through the day as if on auto-pilot.<br />
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I've also had days, and now weeks, when I can feel God's healing balm within me. Days that I believe I'm stronger and wiser and better than before. Days that I know I've grown, not only<i> in spite</i> of my pain and loss, but <i>because </i>of it.<br />
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<b>And yet, I know I'll never be the same again. My perspective is forever changed. <i>I </i>am forever changed. I am somehow more sensitive, more caring for others who hurt.</b><br />
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Now mind you, I've always been a "feely" kind of girl. I tear up quickly. I hurt for perfect strangers whose stories of difficulty and challenge I read, watch or hear about. Watching a touching movie moves me as if I actually know the folks I'm watching. I'm not a pet person, and it still breaks my heart to hear about someone intentionally hurting an animal.<br />
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<b>After I lost my parents, however, I became even more connected to others' feelings. I care more. I feel more.</b><br />
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I guess I'm experiencing what the Bible explains in 2 Corinthians, Chapter 1*. When I experience trials and loss, God comforts me. Having received comfort from the Lord, I can in turn comfort others when they experience trials and loss.<br />
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So when I heard about the <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/06/12/us/orlando-nightclub-shooting/">Orlando shooting</a> and the 49 people who lost their lives, my heart broke.<br />
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<b>Each murdered and injured person from that nightclub was a son or daughter, a sister or brother, a spouse or friend. Each one has left a wake of people that loved him or her. People that will grieve their entire lives for them. People whose lives will never be the same again. People that are forever changed.</b><br />
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It is to this group of folks, the ones left behind to continue to do life here, that I dedicate this post.<br />
<b><br /></b>
I dedicate this post especially for the fathers that mourn their children - gone-too-soon.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For the fathers of the 49 Orlando shooting victims, I mourn with you.</i><br />
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<i>For the fathers of every victim from the countless school shootings that are becoming far too commonplace in our country, I mourn with you.</i><br />
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<i>For the fathers of every victim of senseless crimes in every city, suburb and rural community around the US, I mourn with you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For the fathers of fallen US soldiers from every military branch, I mourn with you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For the fathers of those killed in <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/11/the-paris-terrorist-attack-how-then.html">terrorists attacks</a> around the world, I mourn with you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For the fathers that have lost a child to illness -- including mental illness -- since last Father's Day, I mourn with you.</i><br />
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<b>The world mourns with you.</b><br />
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You are loved - by us who share this global community with you.</b><br />
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<b>You are also loved by a compassionate, loving God. A God that has not forgotten or disregarded you. A God who sees your pain. </b><br />
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<b>A God who sees YOU.</b><br />
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<i>* "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God." 2 Corinthians 1:3-4</i><br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-20778958429091989602016-06-04T14:45:00.001-05:002016-06-04T14:45:50.497-05:00Roots: What we learn from History & Our Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night, I finished the final episode of the History Channel's TV miniseries <i>Roots</i>.<br />
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To say <b>I was pleasantly surprised at the historical and emotional depth of this remake </b>of Alex Haley's 1977 miniseries <i>Roots,</i> based on his personal genealogical history and biography, would be an understatement. I was a young girl when I watched the first <i>Roots</i> with my family, and I'll never forget how much that movie impacted me so many years ago.<br />
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As a matter of fact, as I watched the first episode of the remake, I sadly thought, <i>My parents would have loved this movie. I'll miss talking about this with my Mom tomorrow.</i><br />
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Well, in honor of my sweet parents, and my other ancestors that have gone on before me, today I want to share three themes from <i>Roots</i> that moved me. I could probably list ten, but here's just a few that spoke the loudest to me.<br />
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<b>1. We African Americans were blessed with strong and brave ancestors</b><br />
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I loved the focus on the pre-slavery era of African slaves. <b>Kunta Kinte's story did not begin on a plantation in the American South. Born into the strong Mandinka tribe, his story began in West Africa. </b><br />
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As an African American, I have often seen my people portrayed during the era of American slavery. This is a fascinating and important part of our history that displays our strength and resilience as a people. <b>Yet our story did not begin there. It began on the continent of Africa -- a continent that endowed us with inner strength and resilience.</b><br />
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<i>Roots</i> mastered the display of this strength and resilience, with Kunta Kinte's proud resolve and fortitude.<br />
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<b>2. Strong families were the roots that stabilized and upheld a strong people</b><br />
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When Kunta Kinte completed his tribal "rites of passage" into manhood, one of his elders asked (paraphrased), "As a man, what is your most important contribution to your tribe?" The answer was not as I thought - defending the tribe or providing material needs. No. <b>Their most important job was to raise and lead a strong family. </b><br />
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Amen to that.<br />
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This theme of strong families permeates throughout <i>Roots</i>. From generation to generation, we witnessed devoted fathers and mothers lead their children and grandchildren to create legacies of love, integrity and faith.<br />
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<b>3. Our communities, country and world are strengthened by unity</b><br />
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From the disunity amongst various African tribes that facilitated the American slave trade to the institution of slavery itself to the disarray of the Civil War era, we see firsthand how <b>disunity infects our communities like a cancerous tumor, leaving sickness and death in its wake.</b> <i>Roots</i> illuminated the ancestral roots we share with one another. One example: Chicken George's birth was the product of his African American slave mother Kizzy and his Caucasian slave-owner father Tom Lea.<br />
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I look at my biological children today, <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/08/my-brown-gingers-gods-beautiful-artistry.html">my "Brown Gingers"</a>, and think of the different races that are represented in the blood that runs through my veins. <b>To reject any other race is to reject the blood that possibly runs through our own veins</b>. As a nation -- and a world even -- we are more the same than we are different. More connected than apart. <b>We Americans are interconnected, much more than we realize -- our history intertwined. Likewise, our future depends on our interconnection, our support and respect for one another. </b><br />
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I'm not here to preach y'all, but during this presidential election season, it's painfully obvious that our country is horribly divided, splintered even.<br />
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<b><i>Roots</i> reminded us that we rise when unified. We fall when divided. </b><br />
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Whoever makes it into the White House, we must work towards unity as a nation.<br />
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Can I get an amen?<br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-5440759173018863202016-06-01T06:00:00.000-05:002016-06-01T09:53:14.353-05:00Stephen Curry - Why We Love This Guy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This post might be a bit premature...<br />
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After all, Stephen Curry and his Golden State Warriors still have a road ahead of them - against the Cleveland Cavaliers - to the NBA Championship. And if it goes anything like their last run, Curry and his cohorts will be fighting until the very end.<br />
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And yet, I thought I'd share today. But first - a few words from <i>Sports Illustrated </i>after Monday night's game:<br />
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"[Curry had] just scored 36 points. He'd finished off an unlikely 3-1 series comeback. And he'd reminded those who doubted him -- whether in the media or chuckling at a podium -- that he remains<b> the most illogical, impossible basketball player on the planet</b>, a two-time MVP whose toughness continues to be second-guessed, as Steve Kerr said, only, 'because he looks like he's 12 years old.'" **</blockquote>
Steph Curry has captured the hearts of NBA enthusiasts<i> and </i>people like me -- people who watch a game here or there. And when we do watch, don't get fired up until the fourth quarter. Okay so... I admitted it, and got that out of the way.<br />
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So although I wouldn't include myself in the NBA enthusiast camp, I am very much a <b><i>people enthusiast</i>.</b> I love interesting people that rise above the fray. <b>People that make the world different -- and just a bit better. </b><br />
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Steph is one of those people, and from my vantage point, here's why...<br />
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<b>1. He's open about his faith, but not preachy</b><br />
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Steph doesn't shy away from speaking about his faith in Jesus Christ, but his delivery is seamless, it seems. In his MVP speech he shared, <b>"People should know who I represent and why I am who I am, and that's because of my Lord and Savior."</b> This brother makes his faith known, but he does so in a way that's natural, refreshing and appealing. In a way that others might actually find attractive.<br />
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<b>When I think of all the up-and-coming athletes, like my 15-year-old son Christian, I'm grateful for ballers like Steph - unashamedly Christian <i>and</i> a beast on the court.</b><br />
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<b>2. He brings so much authenticity onto the court and into the world</b><br />
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Steph's popularity reminds me of another young African American man who became a game-changer for his particular sport. Tiger Woods drew us regular folks into golf like never before. His relationship with his father-trainer, his diverse background, his youth... He was so -- REAL.<br />
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Steph has a similar appeal. He's the boy-next-door or the cousin you can't wait to hang out with during the holidays.<b> He's so -- REAL.</b> His funny facial expressions, gestures and boyish grin throw so much humanity into the game.<br />
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And if he wasn't authentic enough on his own, what about that interview he did with his cute-as-pie daughter in his lap, telling her Daddy to "Shhhh..." Oh my word... Isn't she just the cutest? That little precious, sassy baby girl reminded us that <b>these "larger-than-life" athletes (or musicians or movie stars) might be wealthy and famous, but at the core, they're all regular folk like us.</b><br />
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<b>3. His athletic ability defies logic</b><br />
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Now if you're an NBA enthusiast, it's probably killing you that I made this my third point. But an-ty-way... When I started following Steph's career, <b>I loved hearing about the countless naysayers he'd defied over the years. </b>The college coaches and program directors that overlooked him for recruitments and scholarships. <b>The critics that said he would never play professional ball.</b> The haters that claimed that at 6' 3", he was way too short to be taken seriously.<br />
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<b>And who, I ask, is laughing now?</b><br />
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Steph's rise to fame reminds me of a popular Bible story we've all heard a bunch of times. It's the story of a young Hebrew boy who brought down a 9-foot giant named Goliath. A boy who's father had sent him to deliver lunch to his older brothers while they fought the Philistine army. A boy who's victory against that giant -- via a rock and slingshot -- defied all logic.<br />
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Yep... Steph reminds me of David -- long before he was a Hebrew King. When he was just a boy and the most unlikely of heroes.<br />
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<b>And don't we all love unlikely heroes?</b><br />
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<b>I sure do.</b><br />
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** This quote is an excerpt from writer Chris Ballard's <a href="http://www.si.com/nba/2016/05/31/stephen-curry-magic-nba-playoffs-warriors-thunder-lebron-james">"The Improbable Magic of Steph Curry Leaves Us Speechless Again"</a>.<br />
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carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-38588385155699510212016-05-07T16:56:00.001-05:002016-05-07T17:23:42.132-05:00This Mother's Day: A Tribute to Two Unlikely She-roes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tomorrow is Mother's Day - the day we pay homage to our Moms, Aunties and the beautiful women in our lives that have served as second moms to us. </div>
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Today I want to pay homage to two women that have played a special part in my life. But first, a bit of backstory...</div>
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This past week I attended CAFO2016, the Christian Alliance for Orphans' annual Summit. This year we were in sunny Orlando, Florida, and what an amazing time it was. Inspiring breakout sessions, tear-jerking main sessions and a great time with my CAFO tribe. A highlight: my time with the African American Church Initiative -- a CAFO movement formed to further engage African American Christians in serving orphans and vulnerable children. I felt so blessed to walk with my brothers and sisters, as we walk out our calling to wrap around vulnerable children and families together. </div>
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Last year this time, I <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015_05_01_archive.html">shared about CAFO2015 </a>and the amazing work God did in and through me during Summit. This year I want to share something that moved my heart this year at CAFO2016. This is a post I should have written a long time ago. These are words that I've never shared publicly and don't say often enough in my own home.</div>
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This Mother's Day, I want to share my heart about two women in my life that I speak very little about. Two women that are very important to me - precious even. </div>
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And yet, I've never met these women. I've never even seen a photo of them or "friended" them on Facebook.</div>
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This Mother's Day Eve, also known as "Birthmother's Day", I want to share a tribute to my children's birth mothers. </div>
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As an adoptive mother I talk a lot about Christian and Joelle. I share the amazing stories of how they joined our family through adoption. I've shared the highs and lows of being an adoptive Mom. I've shared the never-ending story of the love that continues to grow in my heart for my adopted kiddos. I've also shared the challenges that accompany this journey of adoption.</div>
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What I've yet to share, however, is the admiration I have for their birthparents. No, I don't personally know their birthparents. I don't know if they are introverts or extraverts. I don't know if they are athletic or fashionistas. I don't know if they like seafood or pizza. I really don't know much about them at all.</div>
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But I know my babies.</div>
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I know that Christian and Joelle are both extraverts. I know that Christian is a beast on the basketball court and football field and can run like the wind. I know that Joelle has been a fashionista since infancy. As a matter of fact, when we adopted her at 5 months old, she was drawn to my Mom, who always wore lots of jewelry (and was a serious fashionista in her own right, by the way). </div>
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A day after we'd adopted Joelle, my Mom commented on the way she batted at her earrings and necklaces. "This child loves jewelry already," she said. "Look at how's she's drawn to my jewelry."</div>
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I couldn't deny it. I still can't. My little diva still loves her bling. Always will, I suspect. And I also suspect that the physical traits and personality bents of my children are small windows into their birthparents' traits. And I think that's pretty cool.</div>
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Those traits I see in my children is an amazing gift. Yet perhaps the most amazing gift my children's birthparents gave them was the gift of life. We live in a day when we have lots of choices, and the choice to continue a pregnancy or terminate it is one of those many choices. It's a gift indeed when a mother, when faced with an unplanned pregnancy and unpredictable future, chooses to carry and deliver her baby boy or girl.</div>
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Now let me be clear... </div>
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I have no desire to debate over the pro-life or pro-choice movements today - or any day for that matter. I absolutely do not want to throw shade or bring shame on women that have made the choice to abort a child. My heart is simply to honor and thank my children's birthmothers for not making this choice. If they had, I would have never kissed Christian's adorable dimples or scream -- I mean cheer -- at his first football game. If they had, I would have never held Joelle's feminine, delicate hands or applauded her for creating beautiful paintings.</div>
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These two women are heroes in the lives of my children. This Birthmother's Day, my children's birthmothers are my she-ros. I applaud them. I honor them. I pray for them.</div>
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Because they deserve it.</div>
carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-62012665637406573012016-04-16T16:01:00.000-05:002016-04-16T16:31:56.598-05:00Dr. Karyn Purvis: A Tribute to My Adoption She-Ro<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was sitting in my minivan, having just picked up my son Christian from his football team workout, when I heard the news.<br />
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The car in park, I noticed I had 4 texts. I assumed they were texts from a ministry I've recently joined. We've got a lot going on this month, and when a leader sends out a text, we typically start firing our responses back at her.<br />
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I checked my phone. It <i>was </i>from a member of this ministry, but it read differently from previous texts...<br />
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<i>"Fyi - you may already know, I just got word that Dr Karyn Purvis passed away."</i></blockquote>
I was shocked. I kinda had a moment... To the point where I had to tell the kiddos not to worry. I'd be okay. I'd just read some bad news, but everyone in our family was okay. (After losing my parents so close together, I've had to give my kiddos this kind of information when anything unusual comes up.)<br />
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To say I was sad to hear Dr. Purvis had succumbed to her battle with cancer is a gross understatement. In this post, I want to share why.<br />
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But first...<br />
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For anyone who needs an introduction, let me share some background on Dr. Karyn Purvis. Dr. Purvis directed the <a href="http://child.tcu.edu/">Texas Christian University Institute of Child Development</a>. She spent a decade developing research-based interventions for vulnerable children, or "children from hard places", as she referred to them. She received a bunch of awards and co-authored <i><a href="http://empoweredtoconnect.org/book/">The Connected Child</a></i>, which has become a bible of sorts for many of us adoptive parents.<br />
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One of her most notable achievements was the <i>Empowered to Connect </i>(ETC) Conference, "a two-day conference designed to help adoptive and foster parents, ministry leaders and professionals better understand how to connect with children from hard places in order to help them heal and become all that God desires for them to be."<br />
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Coincidently, my husband Anthony and I had just attended ETC on April 8th and 9th in Brentwood, Tennessee. I was so sad to hear Dr. Purvis wouldn't be present at the conference, because she just wasn't feeling well enough to travel. The conference was amazing still, and I highly recommend it.<br />
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Anyway, I could go on and on about her achievements, but I wanted to share my personal thoughts about Dr. Purvis and what I'll miss most about her.<br />
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Anyone who has benefitted from Dr. Purvis' work can attest to the <b>deep and fierce love she had for children -- especially children that are often the hardest to love.</b> Some have called her the <b>"child whisperer"</b> -- reaching the children that everyone else has given up on. Her gentle voice tone, her tender touch, and the way she kneeled to talk with children eyeball to eyeball... <b>Her methods were not methods at all. They were simply an extension of her compassionate heart.</b><br />
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But her love extended far beyond the children she served. Jedd Medefind, President of the <a href="https://cafo.org/">Christian Alliance for Orphans</a> (CAFO) said it well:<br />
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<i>"Countless parents and friends share the sorrow of this moment. We not only mourn the loss of a wise instructor and guide, but also sense the palpable absence of a beloved parent or grandparent <b>who helped nurture </b></i><b>us</b><i><b> even as she taught us how to nurture our children.</b>"</i></blockquote>
I've heard Dr. Purvis speak in person several times and read her book, and yet I never personally met her. Yet somehow her love for others -- for me even -- was so evident. I knew she cared about children she would never meet. <b>I knew she also cared for us parents -- parents that were struggling to parent our children with love, grace and compassion. </b><br />
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I wish I'd read <i>The Connected Child</i> when I adopted my son Christian from a Russian orphanage over a decade ago. I wish I'd heard Dr. Purvis speak at CAFO's annual Summit or attended her <i>Empowered to Connect </i>Conference before our adoption. I wish I'd had access to her mobile number on speed dial back then. We struggled much with our cherub-cheeked boy that we'd just brought home. He was obviously distressed and missing Russia, his orphanage, and everything he'd ever known. He had lost so much in his short life of 2 1/2 years. <b>I understood and wanted to love him well through his transition, but I was clueless about how to do so.</b><br />
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I told him "no" often, instead of saying "yes" a lot. I slapped his little hands when he misbehaved, instead of lovingly pulling him close and talking through his needs -- the very needs that were manifesting in his misbehavior. I revealed more exasperation and frustration on my face than love, grace and compassion.<br />
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A decade later... I'm learning. I'm growing and evolving. I'm becoming the mother - to all four of my children - that Dr. Purvis, and many other brothers and sisters like her, have encouraged me to be. I'm becoming the mother -- full of love, grace and compassion -- that God knows I can be.<br />
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<b>I am forever grateful for Dr. Karyn Purvis whose impact has changed my life -- and now my children's lives -- forever. I'm grateful for her legacy. I'm grateful for the love and grace and compassion that God gifted her with, and that she extended towards others.</b><br />
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<i><b>Even me.</b></i><br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-53284642715689321862016-03-26T14:04:00.000-05:002016-04-07T22:45:54.703-05:00This Easter: How Grief Connects Us to Christ's Sacrifice<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Parents in their Twilight Years -- Still Sharp and Beautiful</td></tr>
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Last year Easter was very challenging for me. </div>
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When Easter arrived last year, I was reeling from the loss of my parents just months before. I was deep in the "acute grief" that a counselor had taught me about, given me vocabulary for and helped to walk me through.</div>
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Honestly, I don't even remember anything that happened on Easter day last year. I think I was pretty numb to the celebration of Jesus' death and resurrection. In my head I knew that He'd given me - and the whole world - the most awesome gift ever when He died on the cross for my sins and rose from the dead. </div>
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<b>But last year, I wasn't exactly <i>feeling it.</i></b></div>
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This year has been different.</div>
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As I've approached Resurrection Sunday, I have been very contemplative. I've thought a lot about the depth of Jesus' sacrifice. I've been reading the Passion story -- the story of Jesus' death, burial and resurrection -- with my children every day. I watched Tyler Perry's <i>Passion Play</i> with my family, and cried on the finale - <i>Unconditional</i>. On yesterday, Good Friday, my children and I walked the "Resurrection Trail" at Christ Community Church in Franklin, Tennessee, where we now live.</div>
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<b>This year I am absolutely feeling it.</b></div>
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Anyone who knows me knows that I ask a lot of questions. I've always been a curious person. I've always wondered why people act, think and feel the way they do. And often I turn that same introspection on myself. I'm always curious about why I act, think and feel the way I do.</div>
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<b>So the obvious question for me was: <i>Why do I feel differently this year? Why is the story of Easter moving me this year? Why am I feeling it so deeply?</i></b></div>
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The only answer that I've come up with is interesting to me. It's not the answer that I'd wanted. It's not what I'd hoped for.</div>
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I'd hoped that my deeper understanding of Jesus' sacrifice came from spiritual growth on my part. That I'd matured in my faith. That I was becoming more like Jesus, so I understood Him and His sacrifice on a deeper level.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But that wasn't it at all.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I've come to realize that my deeper understanding of the Passion of Christ has come from the very things in my life that I wish I could change. I <i>get it</i><b> </b>this year because I have suffered.</div>
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And chances are, if you truly get it this year, you too have suffered during your lifetime.</div>
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Let me break this down as simply as I can...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<b>If I -- a fallen, sinful, completely selfish human being -- have suffered great loss, disappointment and pain and known the depths of grief because of it, how much deeper must Jesus' grief have been when <i>He who knew no sin </i>experienced unimaginable loss, disappointment and pain? </b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Even when I've been treated unjustly and unfairly, I have to admit that I have also treated others unjustly and unfairly at times. Even when I've been hurt, I have to admit that I too have hurt others. When someone sins against me, I have to admit that I have sinned against others as well.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But Jesus never once mistreated others. He never treated others unjustly. He never sinned against another person -- not ever.</div>
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How deep must His grief have been when He took on the sins of the world while on that cross on Golgotha?</div>
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<b>My grief gives me a small taste of His grief. My pain gives me a small taste of His pain. My losses give me a small taste of His loss.</b></div>
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<b>And all of this makes me<i> get it.</i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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None of us want to feel pain or grief or loss. None of us wakes up in the morning with the thought... <i>What can I do today to achieve disappointment or pain or fear or loss?</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>And yet these are the very experiences that bring us a little closer to the Passion... These are the experiences that help us get it.</b></div>
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Think about it:</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>When we feel lonely... </i>We better understand how Jesus felt when His disciples couldn't stay awake in the Garden of Gethsemane to watch and pray with Him.</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>When we feel ignored or overlooked... </i>We better understand how Jesus felt when Peter denied knowing Him -- not once, but three times.</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>When we lose a loved one... </i>We better understand how devastating it must have been for Jesus to be separated from His Father while on the cross.</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>When we are betrayed by a friend or loved one... </i>We better understand how the Savior must have felt when His friend and self-proclaimed follower Judas betrayed Him.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>When we bear our own crosses in life, we better understand the cross that Jesus carried... The same cross on which He was crucified.</b></div>
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The end result? We come through our cross-bearing stronger, more compassionate for our fellow-cross bearers and much more grateful for our Lord and Savior's sacrifice for us.</div>
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And on Easter morning we can sing with assurance and hope and joy...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Because He lives I can face tomorrow</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Because He lives all fear is gone.</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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<i><b>Because I know He holds the future</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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<i><b>And life is worth the living</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Just because He lives!</b></i></div>
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carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-28291109602503505562016-02-10T13:03:00.000-06:002016-02-10T19:15:22.491-06:00Remembering My Mom ~ Remembering Her Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizZnZJ2YgkR_coM9__Gnird_1BhdonctvgnEU0UioAfBDSfBVuRbFlTWoObO5I0f1qV4ET3nKyCC7X3nuxzCzta5pJ2WRZY9FroCiWIVroNMYOksZmsgepdQ2jPhqSc9bqTOPlW5diiCz/s1600/Adair+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizZnZJ2YgkR_coM9__Gnird_1BhdonctvgnEU0UioAfBDSfBVuRbFlTWoObO5I0f1qV4ET3nKyCC7X3nuxzCzta5pJ2WRZY9FroCiWIVroNMYOksZmsgepdQ2jPhqSc9bqTOPlW5diiCz/s400/Adair+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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When I first began writing <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/01/what-my-parents-taught-me-from-their.html">regular posts about my parents</a>, it was easy to find the time and energy to write. I would sit down at my laptop, and before I knew it I'd pecked out some sincere and, I hope, honoring thoughts about each of them.<br />
<br />
But that was back when my parents were still with us.<br />
<br />
But TODAY I feel like I <i>have to </i>write...<br />
<br />
<b>Today is the anniversary of the day my mother passed away. </b>I can hardly believe it's been a whole year. Then on the other hand, it feels like a lifetime ago that my sisters and I walked up and down the halls of my parents' hospitals. It feels like a lifetime ago that I spent weeks at a time in Maryland, sitting beside my parents' hospital beds, talking with nurses and doctors about my parents' prognoses. It seems like a lifetime ago that I was hopeful that my mother might actually recover, especially when her health miraculously improved.<br />
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<b>It seems like a lifetime ago that I prayed she'd someday return home.</b><br />
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<b>Little did I know that my Mom <i>was</i> on her way Home... Her heavenly Home.</b><br />
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Three weeks ago I shared three things that I remember about my Dad. It was actually hard to narrow it down to three. Like I said, <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2016/01/forever-daddys-girl-remembering-dad-on.html">I'm forever a Daddy's Girl</a>.<br />
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Today, instead of sharing what <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/02/missing-my-mom-remembering-my-mom.html">I remember about my Mom</a>, I want to share the things she spoke near the end of her life that I'll never forget. This list could go on and on, but I'll narrow it down to three.<br />
<br />
<b>"Yes you can."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
As I've shared before,<b> my Mom was a true leader. She was the kind of woman that changed the atmosphere of any room she entered.</b> A close friend of mine once used the word <i>regal</i> to describe her, and I wholeheartedly agree. <b>She was a woman of courage, forthrightness and class. She held her head high in any and every situation that came her way. It's amazing to think of the woman she became after growing up in a poor, rural segregated town in Northumberland County Virginia. </b><br />
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Perhaps she inherited her "chutzpa" from her mother. She once told me that my grandmother once told her, "Daughter, God gave you a mouth. Make sure you use it when you need to." My mother carried her mother's words to her career as a college dean and to her leadership roles at church, her sorority and many other community organizations.<br />
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<b>So it should have been no surprise when my Mom challenged my sisters and me to rise to the occasion when needed. </b>The last time she did so, she was sitting up in her hospital bed, seemingly unaware of the activity around her. My father had just passed away, and my sisters and I were planning his funeral program. When my sister Sherri and I asked our sister Lori if she would share some words during the service, Lori was hesitant and unsure. We all knew we'd be very emotional that day.<br />
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We went around and around for a bit, encouraging Lori to at least plan to speak. At some point Lori said something like, "I don't know... It's going to be a really hard day. I'm not sure if I can do it."<br />
<br />
Out of nowhere my mother's voice rose from within her with a power we hadn't heard for a long time.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Yes you can," she said emphatically. "Yes you can."</b><br />
<br />
I wasn't even aware she was following our conversation. <b>But Merlene Elmira Adair had spoken. And we had heard. </b>Needless to say, Lori spoke at my father's service and did an amazing job. We all knew she could, yet my Mom was the only one who could transfer the courage for her to do so.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9ZpvJ1wAn7Mdi-XSldYorU9-uxEQTG1wBqGuqVcO0axPCDqQLdG8-i9vW9o6t82t6cp6mV_r-sC1sPOxPsv6puo5RW-IlXUwnrnSNkk2W3C0u0-wM7kp2tAmxFb7wWZWYMzzjtKOYCqn/s1600/Adair+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9ZpvJ1wAn7Mdi-XSldYorU9-uxEQTG1wBqGuqVcO0axPCDqQLdG8-i9vW9o6t82t6cp6mV_r-sC1sPOxPsv6puo5RW-IlXUwnrnSNkk2W3C0u0-wM7kp2tAmxFb7wWZWYMzzjtKOYCqn/s400/Adair+.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pop Pop and Grandmommy with their Grandkids</td></tr>
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<b>"So pretty..."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I was hesitant to share these few words, because they felt kinda self-centered. Somehow though, they meant so much to me. So here goes...<br />
<br />
One day I was helping tuck my Mom in for her afternoon nap in the hospital, and she looked into my face and said, "So pretty." Two simple words. <b>As little girls, and even as grown women, we want to know that we are seen - especially by our parents. We want to know they think we're beautiful - on the inside and out. We want to know that they see themselves in us, that they see the "good" that they passed on.</b><br />
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I'll always remember these words of affirmation from my mother. It felt good to hear. It feels especially good to remember them today.<br />
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<b>"I need Daddy."</b><br />
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My Mom spoke these words days after my Daddy passed away. For as long as I can remember, my mother referred to my father as "Daddy" when she talked to us. When talking to him, he was "Baby". To others he was "Carl". To my sisters and me, he was Daddy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUNDDRaz9to6noYheu-7dewLn9vDzD8X7NUUi9bhuL6iWqKxO0XFMmC7zxq4yNw4T48vGg6l7hqAYyhOv1OJW4gI2Us8orpPjdSmHUk1uC-W85o8VAAOwXolnEh3tOfX3c2XpCPkTFr9u/s1600/Carl+%2526+Merlene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUNDDRaz9to6noYheu-7dewLn9vDzD8X7NUUi9bhuL6iWqKxO0XFMmC7zxq4yNw4T48vGg6l7hqAYyhOv1OJW4gI2Us8orpPjdSmHUk1uC-W85o8VAAOwXolnEh3tOfX3c2XpCPkTFr9u/s400/Carl+%2526+Merlene.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So when she said "I need Daddy", I knew she was was speaking of my father. <b>I knew she missed him deeply. I also suspected her health would begin to decline after he passed. She wanted to be with him. She couldn't imagine life without him.</b><br />
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As I tear up thinking of losing my Mom exactly a year ago, I understand. I understand her wanting to be with him again. After 56 years of marriage and life together, she didn't know how to live without him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1AKxn5QypPKYA9hlXj2e0K9hmAFEibcBO7sMcWjfQTV6_WJ_-JtolDs49VqAKhRN7DBvhRh_Gc91FVJTB4FmRWjhzgnrlC6QRwCPv8D9g1c5dc16gu_cO6FtGPgPZamCIJlvVku8oWJ1/s1600/My+folks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1AKxn5QypPKYA9hlXj2e0K9hmAFEibcBO7sMcWjfQTV6_WJ_-JtolDs49VqAKhRN7DBvhRh_Gc91FVJTB4FmRWjhzgnrlC6QRwCPv8D9g1c5dc16gu_cO6FtGPgPZamCIJlvVku8oWJ1/s400/My+folks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Today it does my heart good to think of this one thing -- now she doesn't have to live without him. They are together forever and ever. </b><br />
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<b>And I thank the Lord for that.</b>carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-42918742084072274272016-01-23T15:24:00.000-06:002016-02-10T13:04:44.520-06:00Forever A Daddy's Girl: Remembering Dad on His Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been putting off writing this post for days now. I've wanted to share so much, but I just couldn't make myself sit down and start writing.</div>
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Well here goes y'all...<br />
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I'll start with a little backstory. <b>Many of you know I lost my parents in early 2015, exactly 3 weeks apart from one another. </b>I've shared this story and <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/01/what-my-parents-taught-me-from-their.html">several stories</a> highlighting all that the Lord showed me through my parents during those last weeks with them.<br />
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<b>This past Wednesday, January 20th, was the anniversary of <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015_01_01_archive.html">my father's death</a>. </b>I didn't know what to expect or how I'd feel. For the most part, it was a regular day. But as I look back, this week I've felt an undercurrent of sadness. Just below the surface. I'm still grieving for sure. Think I will be for a while now. And for some reason, I'm okay with that. I don't feel like I have to be strong or brave.<br />
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And I think God's okay with it too. <b>The Word tells us Christians that we shouldn't grieve as those who have no hope. But nowhere does it say we shouldn't grieve. </b><br />
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Some pain is so deep, we never really get <i>over</i> it. We get <i>through</i> it.<br />
<br />
So as I continue to move through the loss of my parents, I wanted to share a little bit about my Daddy. <b>Today, January 23rd, is his birthday, so I'd like to celebrate him for a bit.</b><br />
<br />
Join me as I honor my Dad by sharing just a few things that I loved about him.<br />
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<b>1. My Dad LOVED his family</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHYf2TgVsgVoBDb4yAxqBMEatSwqRlcYJ0XK7M61ONpjDrKRfiVxcgcszDjbxV6WHbHIcMzFWOgu2q-QojYCSF8-ReKmUON1OVmNhA8SkxDUzXmbC0Y6brAq3nGEX7_IvIBkrf92xNGsa/s1600/Adair+%252313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHYf2TgVsgVoBDb4yAxqBMEatSwqRlcYJ0XK7M61ONpjDrKRfiVxcgcszDjbxV6WHbHIcMzFWOgu2q-QojYCSF8-ReKmUON1OVmNhA8SkxDUzXmbC0Y6brAq3nGEX7_IvIBkrf92xNGsa/s400/Adair+%252313.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Carl and Merlene Adair Clan</td></tr>
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My Daddy was often quoted for this famous line of his... <b>"Always put God first. Then <i>your family</i>..."</b> I heard him say those words too many times to count.<br />
<br />
Everyone knew <b>my Dad absolutely LOVED his family</b>. And that family included the entire family - aunts, uncles, cousins - even cousins twice removed. (And just what <i>is</i> a cousin twice removed? Anyhow...) My father loved community gatherings, he loved church services, but he really, really loved being with his family. And with four brothers, three sisters, and a heap of cousins, God gave him plenty of family to love.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy and Me on my Wedding Day</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
<b>He loved my Mom and his three girls most. </b>My Dad was what I call a "Girls' Daddy" - a dad with daughters and no sons. A dad that wouldn't have it any other way. (I can spot a Girls' Daddy right away and it still melts my heart...)<br />
<br />
When people joked my father about never "getting that boy", my Dad would smile and say, "That's all right. I've got three pretty girls." If he ever longed for a son, it never showed. He was perfectly content with all that sugar and spice in the house.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My parents with their granddaughters - Christmas 2012</td></tr>
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Some of my best memories from my youth are my family's conversations around the dinner table every night. My father owned several businesses when I was young, so he had to be exhausted by dinnertime. Somehow though, he stayed engaged and energetic as we talked current events and politics. He listened to the onslaught of stories of our happenings during the day, and I don't remember ever seeing his eyes glaze over. <b>His love for us overruled any fatigue. </b>He'd always unwind later, reading the daily newspaper and watching his favorite sitcoms like "Sanford and Son" and "The Jeffersons". But dinnertime was family time. That was, and still is, precious to me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy holding my oldest son Kalin</td></tr>
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<b>2. My Dad was very PROTECTIVE</b><br />
<br />
This is probably connected to my first point, since my Dad's protectiveness certainly flowed out of his love for us. <b>But anyone who knew my father knew he was fiercely protective over his loved ones. </b>So much so that my Mom, my sisters and I called him <i>Cautious Carl</i>.<br />
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During road trips, whenever we followed behind him, Daddy would drive slowly, making sure he wouldn't get too far ahead. When we traveled alone, we were always instructed to call when we arrived at our destination. And even when I was grown and had a family of my own, my Dad would call me on road trips to check up on us every few hours.<br />
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His calls would go like this...<br />
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Dad: Hey, how y'all doing?<br />
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Me: Hey Daddy. We're good.<br />
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Dad: Good. Good. Where are you?<br />
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Me: We're about 10 miles outside ____________." And I'd give an update on what town we'd recently passed. He would know exactly how many miles we'd driven, and how far we had to go. He could memorize numbers like crazy, and he kept all that information in his mind.<br />
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When we travel to Baltimore now, it makes me sad to know I won't be receiving any check-up calls from my Daddy. And yet, I treasure the memories of all those calls he did make over the years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rxFQ24GAKvR1m56TD76oeUAtiEwsvO8ADYGE2EToW-55HgmJItUJw0VkMj0IeSA4dxMNXGGef8jdD4Jsg5JT3uC4oJWrAk7AmycufR0Ur1Bzp6X3YvbkifWrq9Bb0-s0aQf2Rp1QMRT4/s1600/Adair+%252317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rxFQ24GAKvR1m56TD76oeUAtiEwsvO8ADYGE2EToW-55HgmJItUJw0VkMj0IeSA4dxMNXGGef8jdD4Jsg5JT3uC4oJWrAk7AmycufR0Ur1Bzp6X3YvbkifWrq9Bb0-s0aQf2Rp1QMRT4/s400/Adair+%252317.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy hanging out with my baby boy Christian</td></tr>
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<b>3. My Dad was very GENEROUS</b><br />
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My Dad was the kind of man that would give you - anyone - the shirt off his back. <b>He loved to give to his church, community organizations and to any family or friends in need. </b><br />
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He was the kind of father that would ask every time I talked to him, "So how are you doing? You and Anthony need anything?" And when we visited during the holidays and summertime, he would always slip some cash into my hands at the end of our visit.<br />
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<b>I think my Dad was grateful for all the blessings God had blessed him with, and he just wanted to pass a little bit of that on to others.</b><br />
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<b>4. My Dad was very RELATIONAL</b><br />
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<b>My father didn't just love his family. He loved PEOPLE.</b> He loved when we brought our friends around the house. He'd ask them how they were doing. He'd ask them who "their people" were, trying to figure out if he knew them or had any connections to their families.<br />
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My father loved connecting with other people. He was a true "people-person". As a matter of fact, during the last few years of his life it was difficult watching him age, becoming increasingly quiet and withdrawn. Often I'd see sparks of the man he'd been, but he was different. He remained kind, generous and loving, just quiet and to himself.<br />
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I'm so glad I have memories of the man he was. Today I remember Daddy for who he was - the man who loved his God and his church, loved his family, loved others -- and loved <i>ME</i>.<br />
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<b>I love you Daddy and miss you so very much. </b><br />
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<b>On what would have been your 82nd birthday, I honor YOU.</b><br />
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4866854387137046160.post-46900265581244689852015-12-24T13:05:00.000-06:002015-12-24T13:05:32.389-06:003 Ways to Help Grieving Friends This Christmas: Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwgs6k3WuZ9Xq4CfF5FqoVKmAAvaskQkPVQG4euDuDcZV0BktGnFkkJQ9hOFctCd8u9JzpC-f1t4n0NvshmGdn4OWJ0fjkD0TsyQ3_mCT_mBRC1EMlNlwLctf3bWrfGNXFuya2ay0wxqB/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwgs6k3WuZ9Xq4CfF5FqoVKmAAvaskQkPVQG4euDuDcZV0BktGnFkkJQ9hOFctCd8u9JzpC-f1t4n0NvshmGdn4OWJ0fjkD0TsyQ3_mCT_mBRC1EMlNlwLctf3bWrfGNXFuya2ay0wxqB/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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T'was the day before Christmas, when all through the house...<br />
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I wish I could say not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse in my home. But... we still have gift-wrapping to do and grocery shopping and cooking and baking.<br />
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And yet, I had to take a break from my holiday preparations to write the final post in this blog series. As I've connected with friends and family members, it seems I'm not the only one grieving loved ones this season. And I'm certainly not the only one working through hurts and disappointments and major life transitions.<br />
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<b>So if <i>you,</i> or someone you love, is balancing loss and grief while also celebrating the most precious Gift we've ever received - our Savior, Jesus Christ - this post is for you.</b><br />
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In my first two posts, I shared the two ways to help a grieving loved one during the holidays: <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/12/3-ways-to-help-grieving-friends-this.html">expressing empathy</a> and the <a href="http://carlaadairhendricks.blogspot.com/2015/12/3-ways-to-help-grieving-friends-this_19.html">Gift of Presence</a>. Today I want to share another. It's pretty simple, but I've had confirmation over the last few days that this is the thought I'm supposed to share with you.<br />
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On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I experienced my first day of national tragedy. I wasn't born when Martin Luther King Jr. and President John F. Kennedy were assassinated. I had never watched a nation mourn together. Not until 9/11.<br />
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And mourn we did.<br />
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<b>The mantra birthed out of 9/11 was "Never Forget". We had no power to bring back the thousands of lives lost on that day. We could do very little to console the thousands who lost a mother, father, child, spouse or friend that day. </b><br />
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But we did what we could. We spoke words of love and blessing. We held prayer vigils.<br />
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<b>We also REMEMBERED. </b><br />
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So as I complete this blog series today, I want to share one more way to help those around us that find themselves grieving this Christmas.<br />
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<b>We must REMEMBER</b>.<br />
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One constant about grief is that there's very little that's constant about grief. The way I grieve might differ greatly from the way you grieve. I process my grief out loud. I write about it. I talk about it. I share what I'm feeling with my sisters, my husband Anthony, my children and close friends.<br />
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Others grieve more internally, processing within their minds and hearts. They don't need to talk about it. But it's just as real. Just as present in their lives as in mine.<br />
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<b>Yet one commonality in the area of grief is this: We want to know that our loved ones haven't been forgotten. </b>We love to hear others honor our loved ones and share funny or sweet stories about them. It blesses us to know that we're not the only ones missing our loved ones. It can be painful to watch how life moves on, when we know our lives have been forever altered.<br />
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<b>We simply want and need to know that they are remembered.</b><br />
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So this holiday, let others know you remember their loved one.<br />
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Let them know you're praying for them... <b>because you remember.</b><br />
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Send a text message, Facebook message or card... <b>because you remember.</b><br />
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Tell them you're aware that this Christmas might be tough... <b>because you remember.</b><br />
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It's a simple thing to do. But it means so much.<br />
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I remember just a few weeks ago, Anthony told me he was really missing my parents. It was a regular day, but for some reason he felt the loss a bit more. <b>I have those days too, but it blessed me to know that he did too. It blessed me to know that I wasn't along in my grief. It blessed me to know that he simply remembered.</b><br />
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This Christmas, you and I can share love with others that might be hurting this very moment. I can think of several precious people in my life that are experiencing all manner of loss and pain. I bet you can too.<br />
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This Christmas, let's love like Jesus did. Isaiah 53 describes Him this way...<br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">"He was despised and forsaken of men,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Surely our griefs He Himself bore, And our sorrows He carried."</span></div>
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<b>This Christmas let's be grief-bearers and sorrow-carriers. </b></div>
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<b>This Christmas let's simply <i>REMEMBER</i>.</b></div>
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<br />carlaahendrickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07603156035139082071noreply@blogger.com0