tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-244258612024-03-14T09:00:56.255-04:00It's Time for a Sharp SarahI got this title from an advertising slogan generating webpage and decided that I agree with it whole-heartedly. Hopefully some of my thoughts will do credit to my name.Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-50819547489107510682008-04-14T17:03:00.007-04:002008-09-02T13:57:14.781-04:00Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-17079466906352773902008-01-19T20:22:00.000-05:002008-01-20T12:47:32.988-05:00My love will never be enough<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQFUq2R_kc_oTm5Pfk7vSAKxVQtE3K4lPzfbBHhyakdNssoBgi5Y3t2ZSiE9z17JFeWyID57sS_KhAuua7RrOy4AvcK_KaVn02P4eftxKHoOnXdq7KHmYjLO1GlR8Uc3jopZ-/s1600-h/LONELINESS3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQFUq2R_kc_oTm5Pfk7vSAKxVQtE3K4lPzfbBHhyakdNssoBgi5Y3t2ZSiE9z17JFeWyID57sS_KhAuua7RrOy4AvcK_KaVn02P4eftxKHoOnXdq7KHmYjLO1GlR8Uc3jopZ-/s320/LONELINESS3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157381119288964706" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I was driving back to my apartment the other night and for some reason there was this phrase repeating in my mind.<br /><br />"My love will never be enough."<br /><br />It overwhelmed me.<br /><br />I am desperate for what little love I have to be enough to provide the needs for everyone surrounding me. I see hurt everywhere and I feel it. I can't help it.<br /><br />I see the awkward teen in school so very much trying to fit in and failing, and I wish my love for him alone was enough. I see the single mother, with nothing of her own, lose most of her dignity. I see the twenty-something struggling to make it on her own and failing in so many ways. I see the scared patient waiting to hear the doctor say whether or not it is cancer. I see the lonely divorcee. I see the middle-aged person so full of regret, yet unwilling to change.<br /><br />I want so badly for the love I have for them to be enough for them to feel, to set them on a new path, but it just isn't.<br /><br />I see dead-end jobs, dreams crashing to the ground. I see pain. I see betrayal. I see fear. I see depression. I see loneliness. I see disappointment. I see significant loss. I see self-hatred. I see bitterness.<br /><br />I see a broken world... and I feel it.<br /><br />There is not a single friend or family member of mine that my heart does not break for regularly.<br /><br />And it overwhelms me.<br /><br />It's too much hurt and my love will never be enough.<br /><br />My love will never be enough.<br /><br />So, as David cried out to God in his distress and for healing, I also cried out to God for them in my car.<br /><br />I don't know why I feel so much sometimes. It seems pointless. My caring about it, feeling it, loving them, isn't going to change the situation.<br /><br />I find myself in the place where all I can do is cry out on behalf of them. My tears falling for their pain.<br /><br />Petitioning God with my reflective feelings of their hurt.<br /><br />Asking for help when they won't.<br /><br />Pleading for the one whose love is enough to take hold of them, to take hold of you.<br /><br />And He will, because even though my love will never be enough, if you let it, His already is.</span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-3519153007348586382007-12-26T18:46:00.000-05:002007-12-27T17:47:13.703-05:00Catalyst<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9y0U3Xyx26O1JDgIhb_hCKIF6sR2jCZJ6RhArrFrrrDKlAUH9snGfRNg4JryZJ6_9MHjABR0Fof7GTPhFo1E9W6wGk5LnCysPcG_xlCPme2JRLeTJ_IdtGRRQz72Fugb08UEE/s1600-h/girl-with-flower.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9y0U3Xyx26O1JDgIhb_hCKIF6sR2jCZJ6RhArrFrrrDKlAUH9snGfRNg4JryZJ6_9MHjABR0Fof7GTPhFo1E9W6wGk5LnCysPcG_xlCPme2JRLeTJ_IdtGRRQz72Fugb08UEE/s320/girl-with-flower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148437524204910162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">When I'm worried and I can't sleep</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I count my blessings instead of sheep</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And I fall asleep counting my blessings</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When my bankroll is getting small</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I think of when I had none at all</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And I fall asleep counting my blessings</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So if you're worried and you can't sleep</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Just count your blessings instead of sheep</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And you'll fall asleep counting your blessings</span><br /><br /><br />This song has frequently found it's way to my mind since I watched White Christmas earlier this season. It's a rather simple song, but something about it (probably enhanced by Bing Crosby's voice) resonates within me. All too often in our culture, and especially at this time of year, we get wrapped up in what we don't have and the pressures surrounding us. And sometimes those pressures are really big, hard to deal with, life altering things... but I wonder if instead of focusing so thoroughly on the tough things in our lives, if we took time regularly to think about the ways we feel loved and the ways we are blessed, what changes that might cause. When I am told that I've been a blessing, it matters. It affects me. I might shrug and say, "no worries," but I'm glad and it affects my mood. When I see people around me dealing with serious stuff yet finding things to be joyful about, it makes me recognize the blessings surrounding me. That's how I want to be. That's what I want to be to you. Counting blessings can be a catalyst for change.</span><br /></span></span></div>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-69640061535175957602007-12-14T01:51:00.000-05:002007-12-14T22:52:37.473-05:00Not all is for naught<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here are some things I am thankful for in relation to getting stuck in extremely snowy highway traffic for about five hours after work:</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8uhR5rcsVBpOUh3Q_P-Ohci0Mm4Ommc-hL3qAEJUVw7kGkj_j3ME0YMAieO3Kv5KbbtHHWOI0t13JDUvYMDnIwv90X6iTXsku62yykseZ07JSm6B1bZ1N19ZoyT03txRbmCHw/s1600-h/large_snow_rant.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8uhR5rcsVBpOUh3Q_P-Ohci0Mm4Ommc-hL3qAEJUVw7kGkj_j3ME0YMAieO3Kv5KbbtHHWOI0t13JDUvYMDnIwv90X6iTXsku62yykseZ07JSm6B1bZ1N19ZoyT03txRbmCHw/s320/large_snow_rant.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143719536989992514" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span></span><ul><li><span style="font-size:130%;">It wasn't six hours</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Of the dozens of broken down/abandoned/stuck cars and jack-knifed trucks I saw, none seemed to be serious accidents</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">My car wasn't among them... I love my little Hyundai.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">The two electricians late to work at the train station who chatted with me for a portion of the non-journey while they were stuck in their truck next to me.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">The opportunity to stick my head out the window and just let the snow fall on my face, letting the beauty of it sink in.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">The many friends commiserating with me via text messaging.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Daryl going through the same thing a mile ahead of me... It made me feel less alone.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Sufjan Steven's Songs for Christmas... relaxing music is key.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">That I didn't die when in the middle of Rt 4 my windshield wipers got icy and stuck.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">That I didn't die when I had to pull to the side to fix them.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">That my dad encouraged me to learn to hold my bladder during family vacations... also key.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">That my heat works... almost too well.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Daryl called me with advice for a faster escape... (I still love you for this).</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">I learned of the joy that can be found in 10mph.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">That I made it up an unplowed on-ramp for 195.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Ryan Bankas came to shovel out my parking spot for me.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Jillian offered to brew some tea for me.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">I made it to Corey's birthday celebration in Fort Minor.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Neck warming pillows and relaxing massages.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:130%;">Irish Hot Chocolate</span></li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What I'd really like to know though, is where in the world were all the snow plows when they were needed?</span><br /></span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-75248678326539565932007-08-27T17:04:00.000-04:002007-08-27T18:04:13.013-04:00Hear me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7pLd8fwtjDQ1Gg-mLBy3FJw8s4ghM6DOKWd4GCq8dZa5On4bovJ_nucFYJ7pBoFXboT2c-7sAt2NFlsAawHt2_zM5olOVTaTIwXIFH1COxX_Bf1pVOkTC7af3SC0cnTiQ16h/s1600-h/samuel+from+behind.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7pLd8fwtjDQ1Gg-mLBy3FJw8s4ghM6DOKWd4GCq8dZa5On4bovJ_nucFYJ7pBoFXboT2c-7sAt2NFlsAawHt2_zM5olOVTaTIwXIFH1COxX_Bf1pVOkTC7af3SC0cnTiQ16h/s320/samuel+from+behind.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103500168988416210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />MANY-TIERED MAN</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />When the sun rises<br />it illuminates stupidity and guilt<br />which are hidden in the nooks of memory<br />and invisible at noon.<br /><br />Here walks a many-tiered man.<br />On his upper floors a morning crispness<br />and underneath, dark chambers<br />which are frightening to enter.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />He asks forgiveness<br />from the spirits of the absent ones<br />who twitter far below<br />at the tables of buried cafes.<br /><br />What does that man do?<br />He is frightened of a verdict,<br />now, for instance,<br />or after his death.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkls9cTLGBIKrEyVlMdm9UX-3ohPdc3nQQQMHFl9aywgYomuLQiFgVmpl_Ca51RFTomzQopb7af2G5A7TxHq3FBON_WOEjLRD0FWLtSEZVZoDu5AEe331K3CcVrkueSRev83M_/s1600-h/prayer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkls9cTLGBIKrEyVlMdm9UX-3ohPdc3nQQQMHFl9aywgYomuLQiFgVmpl_Ca51RFTomzQopb7af2G5A7TxHq3FBON_WOEjLRD0FWLtSEZVZoDu5AEe331K3CcVrkueSRev83M_/s320/prayer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103503622142122210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />HEAR ME<br /><br />Hear me, Lord, for I am a sinner, which means I have nothing except prayer.<br /><br />Protect me from the day of dryness and impotence.<br /><br />When neither a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">swallow's</span> flight nor peonies, daffodils and irises in the flower market are a sign of Your glory.<br /><br />When I will be surrounded by scoffers and unable, against their arguments, to remember any miracle of Yours.<br /><br />When I will seem to myself an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">impostor</span> and swindler because I take part in religious rites.<br /><br />When I will accuse You of establishing the universal law of death.<br /><br />When I am ready at last to bow down to nothingness and call life on earth a devil's vaudeville.<br /><br /><br />~Czeslaw Milosz<br /></span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-80960021494032995332007-08-01T19:52:00.000-04:002007-12-27T02:25:40.881-05:00TO TELL THE TRUTH<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOTR0p_8lgSpV_GT-mjZLPjiC4L5p8s2Z5vmUtpXRg1iLhtz6k2VGrpds1faeVAnmtKGumNrc2LNDlEY3wAN7_eGEFQSByhJoKxStYEPwaSsp4z6LI13jdfg0HnjiqD1ijxnB/s1600-h/blur.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOTR0p_8lgSpV_GT-mjZLPjiC4L5p8s2Z5vmUtpXRg1iLhtz6k2VGrpds1faeVAnmtKGumNrc2LNDlEY3wAN7_eGEFQSByhJoKxStYEPwaSsp4z6LI13jdfg0HnjiqD1ijxnB/s200/blur.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093918625298658242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" ><br />To tell the truth, I don't understand anything. There is only our</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >ecstatic dance, a diminutive part of a great totality.</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >They are born and die; the dance doesn't stop. I cover my eyes,</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >as if to protect them from the images rushing toward me.</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >Perhaps I only appreciate the gestures, words, and actions, proper</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >to the small patch of time assigned to me.</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >Homo ritualis. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >Aware of it, I do what is prescribed for a one day's</span><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;">master.<br /><br />~CM</span><br /></span></span></span></span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com311tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-50764823774763073652007-06-29T22:42:00.000-04:002007-12-27T02:26:51.069-05:00Renewal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RJQ4pDhYLLeImhwCBrgr6ohSRnNKrw4cKXFYZ1u4OKH0N7COtpMwoELwWvITn-xjroaCyy70G9cxAXh1GM3PenuMYg12g3xeU_iCTb84_zoyAD_rkkbOjJKSXNeR-X4ODj1i/s1600-h/holding+hands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RJQ4pDhYLLeImhwCBrgr6ohSRnNKrw4cKXFYZ1u4OKH0N7COtpMwoELwWvITn-xjroaCyy70G9cxAXh1GM3PenuMYg12g3xeU_iCTb84_zoyAD_rkkbOjJKSXNeR-X4ODj1i/s400/holding+hands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081707309559378578" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I just had a moment in which I decided that I want things to be as they used to be. The question then forced upon me was of just how far back I want to go. Do I want to go to a year ago when there was seemingly no drama amongst my current close friends? A few years ago when I belonged to and was surrounded by a group of college peers and intimate friends? Could I go back to a time when my parents still loved each other and my family was actually a unit? I think that when I say I want things to be as they used to be, I am really just mourning the loss and brokenness of something I once treasured. There was something beautiful, something <span style="font-style: italic;">right </span>about those things that I miss. I suppose when it all comes down to it, I should really wish to go back all the way to when God created us in the first place. That was the only time when things were as they should be. It is the "used to be" of God... and </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know I cannot begin to comprehend the sorrow God must feel as we continually break away from it, even with the realization of my own losses</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Yet God is moving forward and calling us to a renewal. So now I am faced with the question of if I really want things to be as they used to be, or as they should be, why don't I more often take to heart the lessons taught by Jesus? Why do I fail to daily take on the commission of bringing heaven to earth. The commands are there. What Jesus says heaven is like is what I should be striving for moment after moment. Visiting the sick and the imprisoned. Feeding the hungry. Clothing the naked. Seeing needs and TAKING ACTION! That is the pragmatic way of moving things to where I long for them to be; the way they used to be, the way they should be, the way they will be.</span></span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1157637392850719252006-09-07T09:43:00.000-04:002007-12-27T02:27:25.625-05:00Lessons learned... again<span style="font-size:180%;">I find it rather funny that sometimes relearning a thing can be harder than learning it in the first place. The knowledge of what you had learned is all there in your head but somehow you lost it and its meaning. You don't realize that you need to dig it up because it's almost good enough to know that it is in you somewhere, but when this knowledge gets lost, you end up struggling with old issues. Confusion sets in. You refuse to acknowledge it for what it is because you already feel you have the answer. You do have the answer. You just can't feel or believe it. Then one day you read something, or hear someone, or just wake up and your eyes are opened. You remember.</span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1150450117126219752006-06-16T04:54:00.000-04:002007-12-27T02:28:52.427-05:00An unexpected sunrise<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4882/2532/1600/narragansteet%20sunrise.4.jpg"></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4882/2532/1600/narragansteet%20sunrise.4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4882/2532/320/narragansteet%20sunrise.4.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:130%;" >"...may they who love you be like the sun when it rises in its strength."</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:130%;" >Judges5:31<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:130%;" ><em>I saw the sunrise in my rearview mirror as I drove home this morning . It was beautiful. There were brilliant shades of blue and yellow, and then ever so slowly some red crept in. I have always loved sunrises. I prefer them over sunsets. I think it is because I see them so rarely, and when I do, it is usually because I've made an effort to do so. There also seems to be something about a sunrise that is just so filled with hope. The day is breaking bright and fresh... and with a splendor that few will see, yet it is there all the same. It's a glorious thing. I wish I made the effort to see more of them... and that I could get my friends to come along. I think I need more sunrises in my life, more hope as I face each day. I need to find something real to look forward to. Beyond the immediate I have no idea of what will bring me joy or how I can best use my talents. I need more sunrises.</em></span> </div>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1149701106055973342006-06-07T12:46:00.000-04:002006-06-07T13:37:43.503-04:00My moralistic youth<span style="color:#009900;">Okay, so I couldn't resist putting up this other piece of literature from my youth. I only have the last bit of the story so our reference points are missing, but I still think the main idea can be understood. I am pretty sure that this is how most of my stories were when I was a child. Unless I'm mistaken, I always wrote about trying to be happy with what God gives you. I guess I was trying to reassure myself that it was okay to be short through my writing. It's a pretty crazy story, and I think I was younger when I wrote this than I was when I wrote the spinach horror... hold on to your hats! (I'm going to type it with all the same grammatical errors... because they are rather funny)</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><a href="http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g94/Saribou79/FlyingMonkey.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g94/Saribou79/FlyingMonkey.jpg" border="0" /></a><em></em><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#006600;"><em><strong>Yea hey! maybe we can talk to the lord. I've heard about asking him into your heart and praying, so they looked up in the bible prayer and this is what they prayed (our father who art in heven howlled be thy name thy kingdom come thy will be done as earth as it is in heaven give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our tresspassing and lead us not in to temptation but deliver us from evil for thyne is the kingdom, the power the glory forever amen) and the monkey said his own prayer (dear God please come in to my heart and let me and eagle change bodies amen) and when they opened their eyes they didn't change heads but eagle got a tail and monkey got wings. and they praised the lord. They did this for years then one day; monkey said I'm getting tired of this. So am I said the eagle so lets pray again so they did and said (dear God please change us to be who we we really are not someone else amen </strong></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong>the end</strong></em></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong>-> turn over-></strong></em></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;">(this was on the original yellow paper)</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="right"><em><strong></strong></em></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong></strong></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong> </strong></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#006600;"><em><strong>if your small and people tease you or blind or look funny weird don't try to be someone else insted, be what God made you if God wanted you to be tall you would and if he wanted you to see you would if he wanted you to be weird looking you would be don't try to be someone else when your you.</strong></em></span></div><div align="right"><em><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></em></div>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1148671402125867642006-05-26T15:15:00.000-04:002007-08-01T22:42:05.008-04:00Ah... Childhood<strong style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I just love finding happy things from my youth:</span></span></em></strong><br /><br /><br /><strong style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >The Spinach Horror</span></em></strong><br /><strong style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" ></span></em></strong><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I could smell the spinach in the air.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I told my mom that it wasn't fair.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">She said right back</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">To have a snack.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I started to itch </span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">When she said it was spinach.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I put it up to my lips and it started to burn.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I said to myself it looked like a fern.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">It tasted like rotten eggs,</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">and smelled like dirty legs.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I could hear my sister eating.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I could tell my heart was beating.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I could see the tomatoes on the top shelf- good as can be.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I said to myself Yiperee.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I was near the top</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">When my mother and sister started to scoff.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">She said if I could get all down I can get a pup.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">An hour later I started to throw up.</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">I never ate spinach again</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">THE</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">N</span></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">D</em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);font-size:85%;" ></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);font-size:85%;" ></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);font-size:85%;" ></span></em><br /><em style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">*One of the first poems I ever wrote... I didn't even like tomatoes.</span></span></em>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1144473460556832532006-04-08T01:07:00.000-04:002007-08-01T22:43:39.686-04:00Desert Places<a href="http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g94/Saribou79/Footprints20Namib20Desert20Namibia2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g94/Saribou79/Footprints20Namib20Desert20Namibia2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Hosea 2: 14-15 "Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards and will make the valley of Achor* a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth." (*Achor=trouble)</span></span></p><p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">This is what is written directly after it is explained how terribly broken their relationship has become. He knows he has been forgotten by her, that she has been trying to gratify her desires elsewhere, that she thinks her treasures have come from her lovers when all the time they had been supplied by him. He has responded by barring her way to her lovers and taking away the treasures she has accrued. He has been utterly rejected and yet decides that he is going to sweet-talk her back to him and restore her gifts. She will be allured to the desert. What is this? After she has cheated on him and he has taken everything from her, he will attract her to the desert! She will willingly go to this dry, arid place to be with a man she betrayed. Why?It seems absurd, yet I find that there can indeed be something very alluring about desert places. Oftentimes I've wondered how much I would benefit from finding myself in a solitary hole where my basic needs are met and I can focus solely on revealing truths about myself and my relationship with God. In fact, there are times when I find myself longing for that to really be a possibility. Yes, there is something to be said for desert places. They are places free from distraction, places to focus on the relationship with the one you love... to hear his tender words... to see the value of his gifts. In them we become aware of our thirst. Because we are in such an uncomfortable place, we realize how much we are supported by God. It is from these places full of troubles that we are able to see the hope that is just around the bend. That is when we remember the sacrifices made for us, when we acknowledge that all we have comes from him. The best part is that when we reconcile ourselves back to his truths, he welcomes us again with open arms and perfect love. Lucky for us he is a patient and forgiving God.</span></span></p>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1144472393704922302006-04-08T00:56:00.000-04:002006-04-08T00:59:53.720-04:00Irritating mishapsSo last night after I got home from Bible study, I decided to post my thoughts on some of the things we had talked about. Unfortunately, just as I finished typing, my computer froze and I lost it all. I am still going to post my reflections, but it is so irritating when I know that I had worded everything better the first time.Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1143868356551347352006-03-31T23:26:00.000-05:002006-04-01T00:37:13.726-05:00Ou est le Poisson D'Avril?<a href="http://www.pc.gc.ca/pn-np/bc/pacificrim/images/codfish.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: center; MARGIN: 35px 10px 5px 50px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.pc.gc.ca/pn-np/bc/pacificrim/images/codfish.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;color:#003300;"><strong></strong></span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;color:#006600;"><strong>"Bonjour! Je m'appelle D'Avril... <br />Poisson D'Avril!"</strong></span></em><strong><em><span style="font-size:180%;color:#003300;"></span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:180%;color:#003300;"></span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:180%;color:#003300;"></span></em></strong><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;color:#009900;">April Fools' Day Origin-</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;color:#009900;"><br />There are several explanations for the origin of April Fools' Day, but here is the most plausible one. April 1st was once New Year's Day in France. In 1582, Pope Gregory declared the adoption of his Gregorian calendar to replace the Julian calendar and New Year's Day was officially changed to January 1st. It took awhile for everyone in France to hear the news of this major change and others obstinately refused to accept the new calendar, so a lot of people continued to celebrate New Year's Day on the first of April – earning them the name April fools. The April fools were subjected to ridicule and practical jokes and the tradition was born. The butts of these pranks were first called poisson d'avril or April fish because a young naive fish is easily caught. A common practice was to hook a paper fish on the back of someone as a joke. This evolved over time and a custom of prank-playing continues on the first day of April.<br /><br /><br />...Be prepared. I like old customs and paper fish sound fun to me!<br /><br /></span><a href="http://lili.online.free.fr/images/Jours/Avril05/01042005_002.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://lili.online.free.fr/images/Jours/Avril05/01042005_002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;color:#009900;">Qui! Les enfants sentiront le poisson d'Avril aussi! Ha! Ha! Ha!</span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1142918573760350092006-03-20T23:30:00.000-05:002006-03-21T00:27:35.843-05:00I'm not the only addict<strong><em><span style="font-size:100%;color:#009900;">Here is proof that I am not the only addict of the slogan generator:</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;"></span></em></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#009900;"><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: I keep changing my blog template. I just can't get it quite right<br /></span><span style="color:#ff0000;">Night Sky 0cean: i liked your post, i read it to ruth<br />Night Sky 0cean: i laughed<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: wait you like unzip a sarah the best? how weird you are</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: no<br />Night Sky 0cean: 1<br />Night Sky 0cean: and 4 made me laugh<br />Night Sky 0cean: because it was sooo random and sooo easily wrong<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: yeah I'll say<br />Un petit chou: did you try it with your own name?</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: no, i should<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: what is your slogan?</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: it isn't working<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: let me try again http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi?word=Sarah</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: ok... doing it..<br />Night Sky 0cean: my anti-drug is hannah<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: right on</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: i am not gonna pay a lot for this hannah<br />Night Sky 0cean: :-(<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: ha ha hah<br />Un petit chou: I will</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: tonight, let it be hannah<br />Night Sky 0cean: just one hannah - give it to me<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: see how easy it is to watch them pop up over and over?</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: lol<br />Night Sky 0cean: hannah makes everything better<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: ooh how nice<br />Un petit chou: i love that you make everything better</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: hahahaha<br />Night Sky 0cean: hands that do dishes can be soft as your hannah<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: lol</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: double the pleasure, double the hannah<br />Night Sky 0cean: ok<br />Night Sky 0cean: this IS ADDICTING<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: you must STOP<br /></span>Night Sky 0cean: and sooo wrong<br />Night Sky 0cean: at least no one wants to unzip me yet<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: but sooo funny</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: hannah-lickin' good<br />Night Sky 0cean: i can't believe i ate the whole hannah<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: ooh that's a little intimate<br />Un petit chou: ooh my they want to eat me too<br /></span>Night Sky 0cean: we must be yummy<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: indeed</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: AHHHH<br />Night Sky 0cean: how many licks does it take to get to the center of a hannah<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: now that's just a little too personal for me<br /></span>Night Sky 0cean: it is<br />Night Sky 0cean: he who thinks hannah drinks hannah<br />Night Sky 0cean: oh sarah, what have you started me on<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: not till you’re married!!!!</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: you'll look a little lovelier each day with a fabulous pink hannah<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: who wouldn't</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: HAHA -- this one is hilarious<br />Night Sky 0cean: washing machines live longer with hannah<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: lol.<br /></span>Night Sky 0cean: "i wish i were a hannah-weiner"<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: he he he</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: chris is on there now....<br />Night Sky 0cean: Marvin the Mountie Always Gets His Piecuch.<br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: ha hahaha</span><br />Night Sky 0cean: and he is going away with it<br />Night Sky 0cean: i like this one better than the licking ones<br />Night Sky 0cean: nobody better lay a finger on my hannah<br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><span style="color:#3333ff;">Un petit chou: indeed they better not</span><br /></span>Night Sky 0cean: ok<br />Night Sky 0cean: wow<br />Night Sky 0cean: i should sleep<br />Night Sky 0cean: hahhaa</span></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff0000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:100%;color:#009900;">Now I want to see many slogans in the comments section... so plug your name in, pick your favorite and post it. So much fun!</span></em></strong>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24425861.post-1142900381941116062006-03-20T18:37:00.000-05:002006-03-21T15:44:15.050-05:00Post number one<strong><em><span style="color:#006600;">Every once in a while I find myself at a website that just fascinates me way more than it should. I was sent to this one by a friend through an email: </span></em></strong><a href="http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi?word=Sarah"><span style="color:#006600;">http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi?word=Sarah</span></a><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#006600;">It takes your name and puts it into a common advertising slogan...really rather funny and slightly disturbing. I am afraid to really think about how many slogans I've seen my name in now, but it helped me decide upon my blog title, and since I was at a loss with that I am thankful for the site. Anyway, I thought I would share the joy of the last ten slogans it threw at me:</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#006600;"></span></em></strong><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;"><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">10. Step into a Sarah.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(I don't really know if I like this idea... wouldn't I have to be dead and cut open first?)</span> </em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">9. You've got questions, we've got Sarah.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(what I want to know is if they are bragging or adding to the dilemma of the questions)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">8. Do you eat the Sarah last?</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(</span><span style="font-size:78%;">although I agree with saving the best for last, I once again must state that I would rather not be dead and on your plate)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">7. Go crack a Sarah.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(please don't. I once got hit in the head with a rock and it hurt and bled. I don't want to know how a coconut feels)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">6. Watch out... there's a Sarah about.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(what else is there to say? You better be on your toes)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">5. Nothing acts faster than a Sarah.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(ahahahaha! If that's true, we're all doomed!)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">4. Unzip a Sarah.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">( yikes! please don't. I'm not up for any embarassment at present)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">3. Kills all known Sarah - DEAD!</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(AHH! Noooooooo! Help! Quick! Oh no, that blasted #5 is in the way!)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">2. You too can have a Sarah like mine.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(only if you are really, really lucky)</span></em></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#009900;">1. Make fun of Sarah.</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(Truly! This is probably the fastest way to become one of my good friends... as long as the fun isn't full of malice. I really do feel more comfortable around people once I know they are comfortable enough around me to make fun of me. So... on with the jokes!)</span></em></strong></span>Sarah Sharphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06969364838929704495noreply@blogger.com2