Thoughts on being a jar lid loosener

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We have all had that moment. You try and try to open a jar. Some jar’s are just stubborn.

You twist with all your might. You soak the jar in hot water. You beat it against the counter (does that even work?). You use a rubber glove. Despite your best efforts, the Jar is stuck.

Grrr.

Maybe your in the middle of a recipe, and you’ve been humming along, and this moment of frustration just brings everything to a halt.

You sheepishly hand it over to the next person who walks into the kitchen, and…

>POP<

It’s open. Isn’t it frustrating when you have worked SO hard, and someone else swoops in and gets the glorious moment?

“I opened it!” Your jar opener announces.

“Hmm…well I loosened it for you, I guess.”

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Music We Like | Indelible Grace

If you have heard of the name Indelible Grace points to you. If you have googled them double points. If you have geeked out on their documentary then you know this group is worth knowing and following. If you are a PCAer and you have not done these things listed, seriously shameful. I mean that from the bottom of my non-southern, say it like it is heart.

 

Basically Indelible Grace re-awakened hymns for a modern generation. Creating a conversation and new context where hymns could be re-loved. From their website: “Our hope is to help the church recover the tradition of putting old hymns to new music for each generation, and to enrich our worship with a huge view of God and His indelible grace.”

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Enter: Molly.

She came in a whirl wind. Really. Much to the labor and delivery nurses’ dismay, I delivered her before the doctor could even get there.

But it wasn’t just her arrival into this world that came with fierceness. In many ways she was like the grumbling thunder in the storm. A strong force felt and heard, but not seen. The whole time I was pregnant with Molly it was like she wasn’t coming at all.

Mentally I could not grasp it.

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We had only been in our new town for a year. A new city that I was just acclimating to. A new life that I am only now adjusting to. I am a SLOW processor.

Her middle name is Grace. Which is more about a lesson for myself than about her. I realized at the time that it was a word I most needed in my life. It was something I realized I had never learned to give to myself, and the thought of having a daughter before grasping the concept was a scary one.

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A memoir on my messy sit-com love story with an unlikely end.

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Our love story starts in a class room. In a dance studio in fact. Not for dance lessons. Though we did take irish dancing lessons together once, funny factoid. Anyway, our university was bursting at the seams, and I guess our class had no where else to meet. It was basically a songwriting/composition class. I believe it was actually a group lesson of sorts, where you would bring what you were working on. We were sophomores in college, hardly mature enough to be handling such matters of extreme heart spillage every week. And yet for the sake of education we were presented with the humiliating, yet sometimes rewarding task of sharing the vulnerable workings of our hearts, out in the open.

Did I mention it was in a dance studio? Meaning it had a whole wall of mirrors. Anyway so you would sit there, in front of the mirror. STARING. Staring at yourself, or staring at others (or pretending not to) as you listened to the sharing of songs. It was actually quite cool, maybe not the awkward staring, but the sharing was really helpful. I mean it sounds pretty embarrassing and I guess it was in some ways. However, the room was filled with the electricity of budding creativity. Creativity that for the most part had yet to be fizzed out with the ways of the world or the realities of a pay check. Creativity that was pure, new, and fresh.

The professor was an adjunct professor. Which means he was not overly “educational” or stuffy. He was often late and kind of weird. But overall he was a pretty happy guy and created a nice safe environment for sharing. I remember four distinct students from that class. Two girl friends who were very near and dear to me. Gals that I am not close to now, but I believe we would probably just about pick up where we left off, due to the nature of that raw season of life that we shared.

However there were the two other people in that class that would change the course of what happened next in my college years and beyond. Two boys.

Ah yes…

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