tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88250302895889735412024-02-07T20:51:54.364-08:00Dublin the Lovingraduate student in ireland's big smoke.
bay area <-> ireland Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-86925938346924072152015-09-21T23:17:00.001-07:002015-09-21T23:17:03.242-07:00The 22nd of SeptemberI dream vividly as of late, and there's no one to tell. <div><br></div><div>yesterday I awoke in the early hours, to the sound of rain. I delayed my eyes opening, maintaining the curve of my spine that I cling to in sleep. </div><div><br></div><div>I've always known sound better than any of the other four senses. I blame it on horrible vision, but can't complain when eavesdropping and picking out quiet songs in loud coffee shops. </div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">they say sound and spacial awareness go hand in hand. I say they play cruel tricks on the hopeful. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">lids closed, I felt the weight of him indented in my mattress. his breathing drawn out, with gaps that would always leave me wondering if he was awake too.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">but on opening my eyes, turning to face the presence, the concept dissolves.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">it's not Dublin rain, it's drought-dried leaves blowing in these hilltop winds. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">and it's just me.</span></div>Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0Sugarloaf San Mateo37.529113 -122.320181tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-763702901583416992015-08-18T16:07:00.001-07:002015-08-18T16:07:22.129-07:00The 18th of August<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I speak to a headstone. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I tell you of your boys. your boys I've come to love. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">of our friendship, our true friendship that only thickens the blood we share. how everyone tells us how thrilled you'd be to see us so close. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I tell you of the home video vhs footage of you, that I had put on dvd to give to your boys. one of them on each of your knees, as you introduced them to the uncles illegally in the states. unable to travel home to ireland. (f you, america)</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I tell you of the other day, as i showed them the footage. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">they have no memories of you, slates wiped clean from the grief.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">your voice. oh your voice and your beautiful face. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">many times I've watched it.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">but your boys seeing you, I'll never forget. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"play it again." they ask to see you over & over & over.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">your boys are men. men who raise cattle & sheep, bail silage, drive lorries, and date beautiful women. men who have friends that show up for them, as is returned. friends even I have fallen for. and oh, do they love to set me up with their friends.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">but men that fall weak at the sight of your face and the sound of your heavenly voice.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">they're good, auntie. they're good, but dear god do they need you. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">there's nothing fair about a mum of 6 that withers away at 45. nothing fair at all. but there's nothing fair about much these days. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I love them for you. they're the image of you, and "proud" does not entail the joy you'd find in seeing them now. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">so I talk to your headstone. cry to it too. walk through your house soaked in memories, a place that has forever felt empty since you left it.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I love the Lord, as did you. I'm jealous He took you. I get angry, because He gets you forever and your boys lost you too young. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">but someday He will share you.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">'til then, I'll love your boys and talk to your headstone. </div>Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0Londonderry Londonderry55.023222 -7.314447tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-44461541336179040052015-08-16T14:39:00.001-07:002015-08-16T14:39:44.070-07:00The 16th of August<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">there's a panic. it sets in slow and it lifts even slower. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">explaining it is worse than attempting to tell a story, only to get 3/4 of the way through and realize you've left out the key detail.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">because you don't even know the key details yourself, so conveying them to someone else is virtually impossible. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">it's this uneasiness, this fear, this spin. this utter convincing that all is unwell, and nothing will ever be right.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">it is unreasonable. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I am unreasonable. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">it's an inability to rationalize, to place things in perspective, nor step outside the problem. the scariest bit? an inability to talk yourself off the edge of poor decisions and bad rationale.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">it comes like a mist, and it leaves like a receding storm surge. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">for myself, it creeps in at moments of weakness, moments of change and redesign. a convincing that I know not what I've been doing, I know not what to do, and I know nothing of what is coming. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">a debilitating out-of-control that cannot be tamed. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">the church slaps band-aids of "do not be anxious!" and "do you not trust Him?!" that do as much good as a finger-wrap on an amputated limb.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">He gave me this, this panic.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">this fear. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">this anxiety.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I'd love to swap it like a white elephant Christmas exchange.</div><div><br></div>Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-8779453240055701702015-08-12T13:25:00.001-07:002015-08-12T13:25:29.486-07:00The 12th of August<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">the endless hills have captured me forever. rolling green gridded with walls of stone and studded with the brown, white and black of charolais, belgian blues and freesians. it will own me for the rest of my life.</span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">the white wash, the sheds, the smoke of turf on the fire that winds up to melt into the clouds of white and grey that commonly inhabit the blue. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">the gravestones. plentiful, marking granny & grandad harkin and rooney, & aunties I'd give my life to bring back. everyone I love is buried in this fertile soil, less one. sister, you'll forever be my tie to the states. forgive me for being away for so long. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">the nights. of stories, of jokes, of songs and of life. the shine in the eye of a man just in from the bog will never grow dull.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">the men, from leitrim farmers to spoilt southern dubs. wooing with cheeky smiles and quick wit, rooted in a kindness instilled in them by generations of mammies that would allow nothing less.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I don't fall swiftly and I don't fall hard. this blood pumping organ of mine is thick with sinew and fear. yet for Ireland, I've done both.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 14px; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">for her, the answers are always "yes", "more" and "ah we'll have another."</div>Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0Tuam (null)54.291762 -7.87474tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-7944060087097584812014-11-10T13:53:00.004-08:002014-11-10T13:53:43.931-08:00HappyI have always loved Ireland. I do not resent the fact that my parents moved out of lovely Leitrim over 30 years ago in search of opportunity, but much of me has wondered how my life would have differed had they stayed.<br />
<br />
It would be a simple one.<br />
<br />
I'd be well-known in a small town, be spoilt with overwhelming views in every direction, and so used to the falling rain that I wouldn't even notice it.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'd even be re-locating to California for graduate school, rather than the other way around.<br />
<br />
It's been almost two and a half months since I moved across the globe, to a place that is quite familiar but quite new all at the same time.<br />
<br />
It's the context that has changed. Ireland has always been a confusing entity, because it has included bits of vacation alongside large bits of home. I don't know how many times I have boarded flights to the Emerald Isle, between summers as a child, flash trips for weddings, post-graduation explorations... The number is unknown to me. But this time around, everything is different.<br />
<br />
Every trip in the past has been either me...<br />
<br />
1. being taken by my parents, along with my brothers, to visit all my aunts, uncles and cousins.<br />
2. in search of the right fascinator to accompany an overpriced dress to a snazzy wedding.<br />
<br />
or more recently...<br />
3. exploring the country on my own, hopping from uncles to aunts to cousins, catching up and letting them get to know me as an individual, no longer a child spoken for by her parents. (Though my parents probably see themselves as free of their too-talkative daughter at this stage.)<br />
<br />
The third option has combined with something wonderful recently.<br />
<br />
I have become an adult, in a land far away, and people are treating me like one.<br />
<br />
I get to visit the family I love on the occasional weekend, hopping on buses and trains to jet across the greener-than-green countryside to aunts and uncles for a couple days of non-quinoa meals, gin and tonics that will make your mouth water, and enough tea to keep you awake to chat the night away. (Or watch Love/Hate and Downton Abbey.)<br />
<br />
Or spending days and weekends with cousins that have also grown into adulthood, joking about our childhoods, our differences and similarities, and hiking across mountains to our parents dilapidated stone houses, imagining what their lives must have been like growing up in rural Ireland.<br />
<br />
I stay in Dublin the majority of the time (obviously), because I do plan to actually receive my Master's at the end of this lovely experience. Much to my mother's approval, as I think she was legitimately concerned I would disappear across the country and never show up to lectures.<br />
<br />
Just kidding. She wasn't actually afraid of that. I hope.<br />
<br />
But it's really too bad for you and me, Mom, that they don't give Masters of Drink and Dancing, because I think we would both fly through that program. (As everyone says, I am your daughter!)<br />
<br />
The neighborhood we live in is <i>emoji-with-hearts-for-eyes</i> gorgeous. Like, brick mansions, iron fences, Newfoundlands, climbing ivy gorgeous. We live in an old brick semi-detached house that's been converted into a ton of apartments, meaning we are surrounded on the neighbouring blocks by wealthy young professionals, young families, Range Rovers and BMWs.<br />
<br />
So, needless to say, my semi-rusty refurbished bicycle locked to the iron railing fits in nicely.<br />
<br />
It's wealthy hipster territory, and our top-floor lofted ceiling apartment where the rain sounds far worse than it is, has me spoiled <i>rotten</i>.<br />
<br />
Everyone says it is the absolute best place to live in Dublin, and with all of my Dublin-living experience... I agree.<br />
<br />
We are within walking (or cycling if you're feeling fancy) distance of <i>the best</i> restaurants, pubs that feel like home, and our university campus.<br />
<br />
The importance of those in my life is not related to the order in which they are listed above.<br />
<br />
Graduate school, or "college" as it's called here, has been so very interesting. And just recently, has gotten to be quite intellectually challenging. I only know three people at home with their Masters degree, and I am SO VERY PROUD of them, because it is true what they say about graduate school. That it's all on you, and you either get it done or you don't.<br />
<br />
This is why I am so glad to have been able to grow up over this last year: in my own perception of myself, in my parents and my family's eyes, and with my friends.<br />
<br />
Well, not really with my friends. But I guess that's what happens when people meet you when you're 12: forever immortalised as a child, even at 24.<br />
<br />
I had a moment on the train a few weeks ago, heading back to the apartment I pay the rent on, to eat the food I bought. I was thankful that I had reached a point where I knew what was expected of me: to be independent, to be responsible, and to be receiving "advice" from my parents rather than "help" financially.<br />
<br />
The last year has been challenging, trying to grow up, but not trying hard enough. I was balancing wanting to scream "I am an adult! Treat me like one!" to my friends, while whispering "But Mom, Dad, never let me out of your sight."<br />
<br />
And on that train, I was so glad to be here. I knew right then, there was nothing else for me to be doing at this exact moment in life. This is exactly where I am meant to be.<br />
<br />
It has been such a seamless transition, that it has almost scared me? Like, sometimes I think we are capable of things we don't ever think we can handle, so when they come to fruition, all we can do is smirk.<br />
<br />
I've been doing a lot of that. Smirking.<br />
<br />
Jokingly at my colleagues in lectures.<br />
Knowingly to a friend in the gym about the guy that's <i>really</i> into himself.<br />
Laughingly across pint-filled tables in my favorite stomping grounds.<br />
Bashfully with girlfriends about the rugby players in the Student Union.<br />
And joyfully, to myself, on trains.<br />
About how <i>happy</i> I am.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-2578373572098351162013-03-13T20:21:00.001-07:002013-03-13T20:21:54.677-07:00Yeah...How honest can I be on this thing? Pretty damn honest? Cool.<br />
<br />
I realized a couple weeks ago, I have the rest of my life to blog. If I want to.<br />
<br />
I don't have the rest of my life to be a student, to be passionate about traveling, to go on funny dates, to spend all night in the library with my best friends, to have sleepovers, to drink coffee and diet coke and call it a meal.<br />
<br />
To be with these people, and in this place, for the last time.<br />
<br />
The blogs I read belong to people who lead lives different than my own. Lives where they get to bake cool things, make cool things, raise their children, decorate their houses, and do cool things with their church. Overuse the word cool, much?<br />
<br />
I like them because they're different than what I'm doing.<br />
<br />
And what I do recently? It just ain't blog-worthy.<br />
<br />
It's memory-worthy.<br />
<br />
And laugh til your abs hurt-worthy.<br />
<br />
It's journal-worthy, for SURE.<br />
<br />
And hey, maybe ten years from now I'll turn my journal into a funny blog about the life of a 22-year-old, but until then, composing posts about my days and nights just doesn't make sense.<br />
<br />
They're funny and memorable, and sometimes hard. But they're leading to great things.<br />
<br />
Great things that I'll blog about someday.<br />
<br />
Until then?<br />
<br />
Adios, suckers.<br />
<br />
Just kidding.<br />
<br />
But really.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-2267638627796030422013-03-05T16:38:00.002-08:002013-03-05T16:38:47.694-08:00Video<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Go watch this. </div>
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw1iwvp-HFA</div>
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Good luck not crying. </div>
Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-3962254938145887462013-03-02T09:13:00.001-08:002013-03-02T09:13:22.454-08:00HomeWeekend visitors.<br />
Friday Funday sports at Finkbiner.<br />
Pasadena.<br />
Lemonade.<br />
Summer weather.<br />
Weekend-long sleepovers.<br />
The Nest.<br />
Dinosaur egg oatmeal.<br />
Brown sugar coffee.<br />
The beach.<br />
This place has slowly become <i>home</i>.<br />
But these reminders have been popping up all over.<br />
<br />
"So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight." 2 Cor. 5:6-7<br />
<br />
"Our Father refreshes us along the journey of life with some pleasant inns, but He will not encourage us to mistake them for home." -C.S. Lewis<br />
<br />
And a good friend who I've been far from for quite some time, sent me this the other day.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">“</span><span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">In friendship…we think we have chosen our peers. In reality a few years difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another…the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting–any of these chances might have kept us apart. But, for a Christian, there are, strictly speaking no chances. A secret master of ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,” can truly say to every group of Christian friends, “Ye have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.” The friendship is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-63756979230163397912013-02-21T19:47:00.006-08:002013-02-21T19:47:50.123-08:00All Over the PlaceThe other morning in lecture, I wrote the date at the top of a page of notes, and I could not figure out why that date felt so darn familiar. <div>
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<div>
I wracked my brain for like 15 minutes trying to figure it out, and it hit me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Happy birthday loser high school boyfriend. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's been 8 years and I still remember your birthday?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, needless to say, that was fun. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>In other news...</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The past couple weeks have been a riot. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Taco Tuesdays. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Logan and Destiny's engagement!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cops and Robbers party. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Cantina's Groundhogs Day party.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A <a href="http://amiefaith.blogspot.com/2013/02/we-love-90s.html" target="_blank">90's party</a>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brad and Katelyn's engagement day! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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The practice GRE. And another on Sunday. (woopee)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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A senior thesis. (again, woopee)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Potty training? (wait, never mind) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Bachelor. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And soaking in the 10 weeks that are left of college. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Yikes. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At least we're all freaking out together? </div>
Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-1399428501060281722013-02-09T13:49:00.003-08:002013-02-09T13:49:57.494-08:00PinterTest KitchenYeah, it's February. And yeah PinterTesting was conducted in December.<br />
<br />
But sometimes I'm not as ahead of the game as I would like to be.<br />
<br />
So, I present to you, A Handmade Holiday.<br />
<br />
After seeing this pin when Pinterest first began, I decided I would give these a whirl someday.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88vzQwi5esffB8jGu7KS-ugqJ2_PmhbJtDKYm5eB1__Fm94yCK3OLOoUWsRw1Hogb5ygfvLfr3FLe_1TWJsfGGAlolNUhVNyzDrfhXsqLHtyqrAVKL_nQKWj0BoG6UsHu8qdQF0o4oYVf/s1600/IMG_1743+copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88vzQwi5esffB8jGu7KS-ugqJ2_PmhbJtDKYm5eB1__Fm94yCK3OLOoUWsRw1Hogb5ygfvLfr3FLe_1TWJsfGGAlolNUhVNyzDrfhXsqLHtyqrAVKL_nQKWj0BoG6UsHu8qdQF0o4oYVf/s400/IMG_1743+copy.png" width="225" /> </a></div>
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So when November rolled around, and I hadn't started working yet, I challenged myself to make as many Christmas gifts these year as I could, by hand. </div>
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Then I started working full-time, and handmade Christmas gifts got more stressful than I intended them to be. But the fun was still there. </div>
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I find <i>a lot </i>of joy in making things myself. I know that for some, it is scarier to attempt to make something than it is to pay someone else to make it for you. But, it is scarier for me to <i>pay</i> for something with money I should use to pay for school, than it is to just make it myself. </div>
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It's my stage of life. I'm sure I won't always be this way. </div>
<br />
So I threw a couple of these together for two friends so far, and there is one more in the works.<br />
<br />
I LOVE the look of the one above, and think the spacing is so awesome, but I decided to go for a longer look rather than taller.<br />
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Many late nights were spent in this freezing garage after work, which I called Santa's Studio.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzEsFzsey0SnhlMR6L2-sGYU7x5myPEIq4E8N7OiJZPBWsWT7aN4hrxNa3EvWtJVNu8UeAvnT2gtq6RtcLko0OFYUOxMl_VFU_2bnCnI9QyqlwR_qi0_Xf8ZJ1HTdS-vpT6NUbFNzJ4hwn/s1600/IMG_7272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzEsFzsey0SnhlMR6L2-sGYU7x5myPEIq4E8N7OiJZPBWsWT7aN4hrxNa3EvWtJVNu8UeAvnT2gtq6RtcLko0OFYUOxMl_VFU_2bnCnI9QyqlwR_qi0_Xf8ZJ1HTdS-vpT6NUbFNzJ4hwn/s400/IMG_7272.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This one was for one friend, and piled behind it you can see the pieces of another piece for another friend, and on the floor is the third one. <i>Still</i> not yet finished. </div>
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I set off to Home Depot and bought 6 foot long 1" by 4" pieces of pine, and had my buddy at the cutting station slice them into 2 foot pieces, yielding me around 32 pieces of pine. </div>
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My dad raised me right, I'm a lumber sort of girl. </div>
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After consulting various stains with my other buddy in the paint department, I settled on two pretty darn dark stains, staining half the pieces one shade and half the pieces the other. Then, in putting them together, I sort of just alternated and lined up the grain as I saw fit. As you can see, the pine soaked it up well. </div>
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Then I free-handed on the letters, using the Pin as a general guide, and making up whatever letters were not represented on that original Pin. I was happy to let my creative juices flow with some acrylic paint. </div>
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Acrylic paint is crucial when painting over a stain. Oil-based, people, oil-based. </div>
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After 3 to 4 coats on the letters, I sealed it all with a clear coat of oil-based sealant, and we were good to go. </div>
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Throw on some mounting material for the back, and deliver the joy to your unsuspecting friends. </div>
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Here are the two up on the walls of the recipients. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RqBwcZdghV-i9x5BNsX3KQdl98aaGXczim6po1Oba3P9-1uoMz2AjfivRDrn9sTAdrAWWTivx9SZFG4bTHW-1yUzYrQbse5F8Mtav_n8t-x-oHZYJxSt_Sxybze43-mEZJqkiL0B-2vq/s1600/photo-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RqBwcZdghV-i9x5BNsX3KQdl98aaGXczim6po1Oba3P9-1uoMz2AjfivRDrn9sTAdrAWWTivx9SZFG4bTHW-1yUzYrQbse5F8Mtav_n8t-x-oHZYJxSt_Sxybze43-mEZJqkiL0B-2vq/s400/photo-11.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCE2sXa9L7eEB3msamNblZq4ynhOMzRfDM6gtJ2yFrbgMV6DDQTTN6NG3t3CSIIJ_VVhRfZ5-slgVNfM8hRXOHHZG0hgYg7dr7IHX5sMxjss_qxYhOkhH43UjoHk_6Y1UeidWlYfn-UBX/s1600/photo-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCE2sXa9L7eEB3msamNblZq4ynhOMzRfDM6gtJ2yFrbgMV6DDQTTN6NG3t3CSIIJ_VVhRfZ5-slgVNfM8hRXOHHZG0hgYg7dr7IHX5sMxjss_qxYhOkhH43UjoHk_6Y1UeidWlYfn-UBX/s400/photo-10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Want one? Want to make one together? You let me know. </div>
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Also made this, but didn't photograph it, and it's just paint on some canvas. </div>
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Bo-ring. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFUpQVMW4ARgpp_NVpJrY9qA10B-_HHh9SZT-Mg78iLSFTgE3_-AGcqNzsK_bEYXGWkiWuyGouzRSNnB3tOaaU0OJvkJd0ZhjS-J2F_BBfRLYUccr4HnSszi2whFnLuITusbU6S1pZDTh/s1600/IMG_6594+copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFUpQVMW4ARgpp_NVpJrY9qA10B-_HHh9SZT-Mg78iLSFTgE3_-AGcqNzsK_bEYXGWkiWuyGouzRSNnB3tOaaU0OJvkJd0ZhjS-J2F_BBfRLYUccr4HnSszi2whFnLuITusbU6S1pZDTh/s400/IMG_6594+copy.png" width="225" /></a></div>
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Linking up with<a href="http://www.keepupwiththejohnsons.com/" target="_blank"> Jessica</a>!</div>
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<a href="http://keepupwiththejohnsons.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1013.photobucket.com/albums/af252/kkfults/jessicacopy-2.jpg" /></a></center>
Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-25475182338684127322013-02-01T19:16:00.003-08:002013-02-01T19:16:42.275-08:00RamblingsJust checking in.<br />
<br />
I've been watching so much Downton Abbey, that now all my thoughts run through my brain in an early 1900's British accent.<br />
<br />
Branson? Marry me.<br />
<br />
Of course I'd pick the Irish guy.<br />
<br />
But Vera Bates is also Irish, and I'd be fine if she just disappeared from the show altogether.<br />
<br />
Of course, I'm only five episodes into Season 2, so my concerns may be null to those who are caught up. I wish I was current on the episodes, but I've got like, school and stuff, sooo....<br />
<br />
Currently I am watching William dying in his hospital bed, as Daisy tells him that it would be dishonest to marry him.... Suck it up, DAISY. Marry the dude.<br />
<br />
And Mary? Stop being so nice. You love Matthew. Let Ms. Swire get out of the picture.<br />
<br />
Anywho.<br />
<br />
We are pretty darn excited for the Har-Bowl this weekend around these parts. Lots of viewing parties. And lots of celebrations tomorrow. So many birthdays to gather together for recently, and hey, Betsy's even throwing a Groundhogs Day party. Whatever the heck that entails!<br />
<br />
Things are well down here. Four weeks have already passed, so the semester is a quarter of the way done.<br />
<br />
That is insane.<br />
<br />
Well, if you're reading this, I hope you are well, wherever you are. January is over, and February has begun.<br />
<br />
:)<br />
<br />
PS Lemon Shandy Shocktop? Yum. Get yourself some.<br />
<br />Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-12893778480328051532013-01-28T20:25:00.003-08:002013-01-28T20:25:58.538-08:00A SeedI just sang three children to sleep. <div>
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Hymns. </div>
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First my two-year-old boyfriend, then his two older sisters.</div>
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And it took me back to a place I could only remember foggily. </div>
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Memories of babysitting one of my favorite families. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And singing those same hymns over a young girl while rocking her to sleep. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A little girl that was attached to me and called me "Apert", but it made my heart melt every time because at least she called me <i>something</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A toddler who would later be found to have profound deafness, that explained so acutely her fear of bedtimes in the dark, where both sound and sight would be impaired for her. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
God softened my 19-year-old sarcastic heart for a tiny little girl, and I could never explain to anyone why. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I frequently would tag-team babysit with my boyfriend at the time. After an hour of holding her, walking, singing, and rocking, when she would finally go to sleep, he would point out that special place in me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That I wouldn't do that for many kids. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That I may have taught swim lessons for summers and summers, and led camp for kids of all ages, but <i>that</i> child was the first to really pierce through this tough girl's exterior. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The love of a toddler that was always excited to see me, helped heal much of the heartache and inadequacy I battled.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
God used Ashlyn to plant in me a seed of longing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Of longing to someday be someone's <i>mother</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That little baby I've gotten to watch grow since birth, is now an independent five-year-old that I can barely get a hug out of when I see her. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And even when she chooses <a href="http://www.acuppakim.com/" target="_blank">Kim</a> over me, or freaking <i>cats</i> over me, I will always remember how God used that tiny body to win over my heart. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now I find myself in such a peculiar situation, that I was almost <i>afraid</i> God would use exactly the way He is using it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have worked since high school, but any full-time work has always been limited to summer or winter breaks. Coming off of months of working 40 hour weeks at Target, I have tasted the independence and satisfaction of working life, and I love it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, I spend my afternoons, and some evenings, filling the shoes of a woman who would love <i>nothing more</i> than to get to be at home with her three beautiful children, but God has clearly said that that will not be the case right now. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I long to be working, but I play "Mom" with my days. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She would love to be at home, but she spends her days working. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I thought I would be easily able to slip down to school for four months, graduate, and head right back home and back to work. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But does the Lord ever work that way? Not in my life, anyway. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Purposeful. He is so purposeful. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every single day has been so meticulously designed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is my fourth week, and I am already undone at what He has been changing in me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What He has brought into the picture, and what He has removed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He is so good to us, and gives us desires we would never be able to conjure up with our hearts of stone. </div>
Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-59649460308235065582013-01-22T17:54:00.000-08:002013-01-22T17:54:48.264-08:00Terrible Twos-DayIt's like the minute you say you're having a great time, you get thrown a really hard day that leaves you dead on the floor at 5:30 in the evening.<br />
<br />
Today was the pits.<br />
<br />
The last few days have been hit and miss, with some really great times with friends and family back home, and some real challenging predicaments that I only wish I could talk about.<br />
<br />
I hate that feeling of sending out an SOS on a Tuesday night, when I have so much to be thankful for and be joyous about.<br />
<br />
But that's our condition, right? Never satisfied with what we have. Never able to completely trust what God is doing without knowledge of the future. Pretty damn positive that we know what is best.<br />
<br />
Then boom.<br />
<br />
Shot down on a Tuesday.<br />
<br />
Left feeling alone, swamped by the prospect of the future, with a normally bubbly two-year-old that just can't stop crying.<br />
<br />
I hate to say this, but I think that just may be how this semester will be.<br />
<br />
Periods of great fun, laughs, and soaking in this last semester with treasured friends.<br />
<br />
And periods of <i>what the hell is going on</i>?<br />
<br />
Now, if you'll excuse me, we're off to the bar.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-13515829701135516082013-01-13T17:06:00.003-08:002013-01-13T17:06:44.733-08:00TranslocatedI snuck away.<br />
<br />
To school.<br />
<br />
For four months.<br />
<br />
To a cute room, walk-in closet and bathroom.<br />
<br />
On the bottom floor of a brand new home in a community at the base of the foothills.<br />
<br />
To take my last two undergraduate classes.<br />
<br />
And be a live-in nanny for a Christian family.<br />
<br />
They prefer "au pair".<br />
<br />
I laugh, because there is nothing blonde, au-pair-esque or Swedish about me.<br />
<br />
The past seven days have been <i>great</i>.<br />
<br />
Minus the shin splints I had in high school returning with a vengeance.<br />
<br />
But I've become an expert in the art of KT taping over the last few days, so fear not.<br />
<br />
That's where I am, folks.<br />
<br />
Probably be going back and forth from here to home for the next 4 months, because you can't keep this girl away from her roots.<br />
<br />
Or her friends.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-88141077291462815002012-12-24T20:16:00.001-08:002012-12-24T20:16:19.657-08:00Eve I have to laugh a little when I look back at where God has carried me to since Christmas Eve of 2011. He has changed a lot in this life in 365 days, purging me of things that kept me from Him.<br />
<br />
Like a multitude of sins.<br />
<br />
And social media.<br />
<br />
And boyfriends.<br />
<br />
God dealt me my hardest year so far, but only that I might me made even an <i>ounce</i> more like his son.<br />
<br />
He gave me the most refining year to date.<br />
<br />
He has prepared me more to be a wife and a mother than I could have ever hoped.<br />
<br />
Events that I prayed and prayed and <i>prayed </i>would be over soon, I now look back on and see how they strengthened me more than any fairy tale ending could have.<br />
<br />
In the moment, I hated every minute of some days. <i>Every single minute</i>. Because I knew I was in the process of losing control of my own plans and wishes.<br />
<br />
I dated men that I won't marry, and it's alright!<br />
<br />
I know some of you will pity me for that, but I don't look back and regret those decisions. I have enjoyed being pursued by and getting to know young men that love Jesus, because there is a real-ness and an honesty there that is refreshing.<br />
<br />
I have a job that I actually <i>really</i> enjoy. Even when the hours are long, I get to interact with people that make up the <i>reality</i> of the Bay Area. It has been a blessing to expand my perspective to more than a "bubble of believers".<br />
<br />
Plus. A discount at Target? A blessing in itself.<br />
<br />
Nepal? Lets face it, I could go on for days about that place and the people it holds. Absolutely <i>everything</i> is different now.<br />
<br />
This Christmas Eve, I am in a place a hundred miles from where I was last Christmas Eve.<br />
<br />
All has changed.<br />
<br />
But, once again, it's time to play the traditional Christmas Eve Monopoly with my parents and brothers.<br />
<br />
Some things haven't changed at all.<br />
<br />
I cannot wait to tell you about 2013.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-67642953235752988282012-12-18T22:57:00.001-08:002012-12-18T22:57:36.403-08:00Christmas and Missions“'As you sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world.' (John 17:18)<br />
Christmas is a model for missions. Missions is a mirror of Christmas. As I, so you.<br />
<br />
For example, danger. Christ came to his own and his own received him not. So you. They plotted against him. So you. He had no permanent home. So you. They trumped up false charges against him. So you. They whipped and mocked him. So you. He died after three years of ministry. So you.<br />
<br />
But there is a worse danger than any of these which Jesus escaped. So you!!<br />
<br />
In the mid-16th century Francis Xavier (1506–1552), a Catholic missionary, wrote to Father Perez of Malacca (today part of Indonesia) about the perils of his mission to China. He said,<br />
<br />
'The danger of all dangers would be to lose trust and confidence in the mercy of God. . . To distrust him would be a far more terrible thing than any physical evil which all the enemies of God put together could inflict on us, for without God’s permission neither the devils nor their human ministers could hinder us in the slightest degree.'<br />
<br />
The greatest danger a missionary faces is to distrust the mercy of God. If that danger is avoided, then all other dangers lose their sting.<br />
<br />
God makes every dagger a scepter in our hand. As J.W. Alexander says, “Each instant of present labor is to be graciously repaid with a million ages of glory.”<br />
<br />
Christ escaped the danger of distrust. Therefore God has highly exalted him!<br />
<br />
Remember this Advent that Christmas is a model for missions. As I, so you. And that mission means danger. And that the greatest danger is distrusting God’s mercy. Succumb to this and all is lost. Conquer here and nothing can harm you for a million ages."<br />
<br />
-"Dangerous Mission"Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-12069140917114439912012-12-11T23:41:00.001-08:002012-12-11T23:41:56.532-08:00Find Joy"When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. After coming into the house they saw the Child with Mary His mother; and they fell to the ground and worshiped Him. Then, opening their treasures, they presented to Him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh." (Matthew 2:10–11)<br />
<br />
One of my devotionals walked through Matthew 2:10-11 today.<br />
<br />
Do I, and we, bring everything we have to the feet of Christ? Saying, "I want to find joy in nothing but Jesus"? <br />
<br />
The magi knew not what Jesus would do in his life, let alone of his work on the cross, yet they still brought him gifts of great value. Not because Christ needed them, but rather that they might say "Take these, for you are more precious to me than any worldly thing." <br />
<br />
That is something I battle daily, as I think a lot of us do. Is Jesus more precious to me than any thing, person, concept, dream, goal, or success? <br />
<br />
He is ALL we need. <br />
<br />
Let us lay everything, that pails in comparison to the joy of knowing him, at his feet. Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-26572258252275880592012-12-10T20:20:00.000-08:002012-12-10T20:20:10.181-08:00Knock Me Down, and Drag Me OutJersey was a blessing. I will tell you all about it.<br />
<br />
<i>Soon.</i><br />
<br />
But first?<br />
<br />
I <i>wish</i> I was one who learned quickly, who saw her mistakes as they were laid out in front of her, and didn't need to be dragged through the trenches kicking and screaming to see the err in her ways.<br />
<br />
When my pride is at its worst, and sin is taking ahold of this life, it often results in a knockdown dragout fight between myself and the Lord.<br />
<br />
And it is solely by his grace that I can eventually succumb to his tender words of "Enough, child. Enough."<br />
<br />
I know that it is because of his great love for his people that we are shown our need for him.<br />
<br />
He disciplines those he loves.<br />
<br />
His <i>kindness</i> is what leads us to repentance.<br />
<br />
But so often, I wish that the road was easier. That there was a less painful way for the Father to make us like Christ. That we didn't have to hurt each other in the process of figuring out what this life is to look like.<br />
<br />
Our God is one of grace, forgiveness, and peace.<br />
<br />
So I am thankful for the knockdowns and the dragouts. For the midnight phone calls. For the anger-driven chats in the center of Times Square. For the mile-long e-mails that I never want to open. For all the tough conversations on park benches, sidewalks, and front steps.<br />
<br />
Because they've drawn me closer to Jesus, by showing me my <i>desperate</i> need of him and only him.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-36043832977515375842012-11-28T17:57:00.003-08:002012-11-28T17:57:55.137-08:00ShoreboundWe are headed to the Jersey Shore TONIGHT! <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The day has finally arrived.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pray for us? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For safety. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For attitudes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For travels. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For weather. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For intentional relationships. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For humility. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For grace. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And for Christ to be made much of, in the cleaning out of muddy homes and sorting through of people's treasured possessions. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-81793439706464521812012-11-26T20:53:00.001-08:002012-11-26T20:53:22.345-08:00Undone<span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">This passage <i>undoes</i> me. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Every single time.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"And you were </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><u>dead</u> in the trespasses and sins </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">the sons of disobedience—</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">among whom we all once lived in </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> and the mind, and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">were by nature </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.</span><span class="verse-num" id="v49002004-1" style="background-color: white; color: #b36c38; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.7em; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; padding-right: 0.15em; vertical-align: top;"> </span><a alt="esv_01" class="va" href="" rel="v49002004" style="background-color: white; color: #284f57; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; outline: 0px;"></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>But</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b> God</b>, being </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">rich in mercy, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">because of the great love with which he loved us,</span><span class="verse-num" id="v49002005-1" style="background-color: white; color: #b36c38; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.7em; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; padding-right: 0.15em; vertical-align: top;"> </span><a alt="esv_01" class="va" href="" rel="v49002005" style="background-color: white; color: #284f57; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; outline: 0px;"></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">even </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">when we were dead in our trespasses, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>made us alive together with Christ</i>—</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">by grace you have been saved—</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">and raised us up with him and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus,</span><span class="verse-num" id="v49002007-1" style="background-color: white; color: #b36c38; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.7em; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; padding-right: 0.15em; vertical-align: top;"> </span><a alt="esv_01" class="va" href="" rel="v49002007" style="background-color: white; color: #284f57; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; outline: 0px;"></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">riches of his grace in </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.</span><span class="verse-num" id="v49002008-1" style="background-color: white; color: #b36c38; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.7em; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; padding-right: 0.15em; vertical-align: top;"> </span><a alt="esv_01" class="va" href="" rel="v49002008" style="background-color: white; color: #284f57; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; outline: 0px;"></a><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">For </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">by grace you have been saved </span></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>through faith</b>. And this is </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">not your own doing; </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">it is the gift of God, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">not a result of works, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">so that no one may boast. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">For </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">we are his workmanship, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">created in Christ Jesus </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">for good works, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">which God prepared beforehand, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #363030; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">that we should walk in them." <b>Ephesians 2:1-9</b></span>Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-68497428964026342752012-11-25T21:56:00.001-08:002012-11-25T21:56:25.603-08:00Cross-TrainingWith leaving for New Jersey in three days, I was discussing with a co-worker at work today about whether I was ready or not.<br />
<br />
The answer was clearly no.<br />
<br />
So, we decided to do a little cross-training in the huge walk-in freezer and two fridges we have at work. <br />
<br />
You see, I work in the backroom, so we do some pretty funny and entertaining things throughout our long shifts. It helps to get through the crazies. <br />
<br />
We bundle up in the knee-length fur-lined jackets we're provided, and head on in to pull whatever is needed from the freezer or fridge. <br />
<br />
I'm starting to be able to handle up to four minutes in the freezer, and seven in the fridges, before my eyelashes start gathering frost. <br />
<br />
Mind you, the freezer is 0 degrees Fahrenheit, so around -18 degrees Celsius.<br />
<br />
It won't be near that cold in NJ, but one cannot be over-prepared. <br />
<br />
Bring on the cold weather and warm hearts.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-74489723324378394872012-11-24T21:42:00.002-08:002012-11-24T21:42:24.104-08:00Work!<div>
I'm tired. </div>
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A kind of tired I haven't known in quite a while. </div>
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My days are full. Full of nine hour work days, and any extra time on either end is full of family and friends. </div>
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And I'm sore. </div>
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Boy, am I <i>sore</i>. </div>
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My new occupation is more of a workout than I could have ever imagined. Walking, running, climbing, carrying, reaching, pulling, pushing... </div>
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My muscles are growing, but it's a painful process. </div>
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And my bruised knees and shins are great conversation starters. </div>
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Long story short, work is <i>good</i>. Tiring, but so good. </div>
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Good for my brain, good for my soul, and good for my body. </div>
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The last two days and the next four are crazy. </div>
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Thanksgiving and Black Friday were a frenzy of football, food, family, and freaking insane shoppers. </div>
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The next four are full of four all-day shifts, and packing for Sandy relief. </div>
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Four days from right now, we will be at the airport awaiting our red-eye to Philly. </div>
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As in, 96 hours from now. </div>
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And I have no idea where I am going to find clothes warm enough to survive over there. </div>
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Full days, but fulfilling days. </div>
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Crazy days, but good days. </div>
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<i>"For it is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God. So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." <b>2 Corinthians 4:15-18</b></i></div>
Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-31514441534872940112012-11-20T22:01:00.001-08:002012-11-20T22:01:19.790-08:00Kings & QueensA well done and well made song and video by Audio Adrenaline.<br />
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I encourage you to watch and listen.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/U64bongHqYU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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Makes me want to play soccer and have paint powder wars with children for the rest of my days.<br />
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You feel the same?<br />
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Let's do it.<br />
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Be Jesus to the least.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-59011341018837440922012-11-16T22:00:00.001-08:002012-11-16T22:00:46.129-08:00Noses and Rings and NosesI never thought a small piece of metal could lead to such disagreement.<br />
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The location of that piece of metal might be a key factor in what is making it controversial.<br />
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It's in my nose.<br />
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Sometimes it's just a tiny little shiny stud, and sometimes it's a hoop shape.<br />
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To me? Big deal.<br />
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Both are just an accessory.<br />
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And I've had it for over a year now.<br />
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But to a few people recently?<br />
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It's the END. Of the freaking WORLD.<br />
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Drama-rama all across this city.<br />
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This house, especially.<br />
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But you know what I think? Even though sometimes I can't remember why I even got my nose pierced to begin with?<br />
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If my bosses are down with it, I'm down with it.<br />
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And if Nepal's down with it, I'm all about it.<br />
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And I have attachment issues, so I don't think I could really let it go just yet.<br />
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Plus, it's the best when you're washing your face at night while on speaker phone and your purity ring gets caught on your nose hoop and you have to end the call with your elbow while the beads in your exfoliating facewash burn your eyes out of their sockets while your hand is STUCK to your FACE.<br />
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Yeah, it'll be gone by the time I'm 25.Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8825030289588973541.post-38499902054125190532012-11-13T22:16:00.001-08:002012-11-13T22:16:33.547-08:00Bonhoeffer: Spirit v. Flesh“When all is said and done, the life of faith is nothing if not an unending struggle of the spirit with every available weapon against the flesh.” <br />
― Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost Of Discipleship<br />
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Because we all could use a little Bonhoeffer at the end of a long day. <br />
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The life of a young person is a constant battle of his or her spirit against his or her flesh. <br />
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Those who disagree, are lying. Margaret Harkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06083214146470095979noreply@blogger.com0