tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61395857254339497762023-11-15T23:42:08.695-08:00On The HomefrontMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-50595209864233195872012-11-24T19:40:00.002-08:002012-11-24T19:55:53.986-08:00The End of The Day<br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So many people say that the hardest part of losing someone is forcing yourself to get out of bed each and every morning. However, for me, that is the easy part. For me, the hard part comes at the end of each and every day. You fight through so many challenges throughout the day as you shed sweat, blood, and tears. You laugh, you cry, you do what you have to do to fit a smile in here and there. Then, the end of the day comes and you look back on everything you’ve done throughout the day, good or bad, easy or difficult, and time and time again you’re forced to realize one thing...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>No matter what decisions you make</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>No matter how hard you push yourself</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>No matter what you do with your life</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i><b>He isn’t coming back</b></i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i></i></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You then close your eyes and, once again, cry yourself to sleep because sleeping is the only way to get through the darkness that comes with the night. You cry, because you cannot follow. You cry, because you still have to wake up the next day and fight through it and do everything you’ve always done to make him proud, but now you have to go to bed with the same dark realization as each night previous since you've lost him...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Loss and sorrow are a cold, dark, and miserable place and I wouldn’t wish them on anyone. Some days are easier to smile than others. I have amazing friends who support me and make it easier. However, at the end of the day - no matter how much support, or laughter, or mini victories you have - it always ends with the same damn reality running through your head:</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Your brother is dead.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i></i></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i></i></span>_______________________</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<br />
<br />
Holiday season fricken sucks...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
McConnell Out.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7C1HkqKrIdK1zjZsVCf4QMbn-CVQeXCrHnvUSFHWQMcgzU0jvF9ZyaPVDSKMjDDzC5nUv5RLcvFFdl2D-W1Yq95fkj5OZEHrR4df4JlCLrU9rLsUsE8vQqtz23iO3Nng9iiIv1xgpHmb/s1600/428928_3295874957164_1431719032_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7C1HkqKrIdK1zjZsVCf4QMbn-CVQeXCrHnvUSFHWQMcgzU0jvF9ZyaPVDSKMjDDzC5nUv5RLcvFFdl2D-W1Yq95fkj5OZEHrR4df4JlCLrU9rLsUsE8vQqtz23iO3Nng9iiIv1xgpHmb/s1600/428928_3295874957164_1431719032_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7C1HkqKrIdK1zjZsVCf4QMbn-CVQeXCrHnvUSFHWQMcgzU0jvF9ZyaPVDSKMjDDzC5nUv5RLcvFFdl2D-W1Yq95fkj5OZEHrR4df4JlCLrU9rLsUsE8vQqtz23iO3Nng9iiIv1xgpHmb/s200/428928_3295874957164_1431719032_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i> Another day fought</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Another inner war won</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>So gather up what’s left</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>The day is now done</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Soft rain cascades down her cheeks</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>The thunder tears through her cries</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Victory’s weight bears down on her shoulders</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>To give in is her demise</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Another day fought</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>Another inner enemy defeated</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>So gather up the pieces</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>For tomorrow, this battle will be repeated</i></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i> (c) MEM 2012</i></span></div>
</div>
Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-56291568410462166982012-08-20T22:07:00.002-07:002012-08-21T00:18:56.130-07:00RealizationA million calming emotions can be expressed through a smile. Every day I
smile for those around me. I smile for my patients, my friends, my
family, myself... I've buried the dark clouds within me so deeply that
when they finally surface they are a raging storm. I wish there was
some way I could convey to those who don't understand what it's like to
lose the single person you are most close to. Every time you go out and
search in the world for someone or multiple someone else to take care
of you like the one you lost did you come up disappointed and empty
handed. I wish I could describe to the world the pain that occurs when
you re-realize that they're gone. <br />
<br />
I could be having a really
amazing day - happy as can be without a care in the world. Then, out of
no where, some random event triggers a memory... the event could be
happy or sad - and not everything directly related to Ian brings it
up... shoot-- I could talk about him for hours and be fine! However,
for some reason, random unexpected things strike me at just the right
angle and my mind and heart remind me over and over again that he's
gone. <br />
<br />
<em>He's GONE</em><br />
<br />
I cannot emphasize those words
enough. They are the words that strike the deepest and hurt the most.
Yes, it's a reminder, but it's more than that.. I have no idea how to
describe it- I really don't. It's like the words bring with them a
hurricane all on their own. I'm swept away in the realization of the
truth of these words. Every time, without fail, no matter how much time
has passed, it all feels fresh once again. In my mind and in my heart
it is as if I just learned my brother has died and I'm having to deal
with it all over again. In my mind and my heart, my brother died today -
that really is how it felt. I know he died over a year ago and today
isn't even a monthly anniversary, but my entire being feels the
freshness of the pain just as strongly as it did the first day, if not
stronger. Each day I realize I have to keep going on without him is not
another battle, but another war in and of itself. I really do not know
how to do this life without him. As people in my life let me down left
and right it's another painful reminder of the ever strong support I
had with Ian. People will say that he is still there supporting me in
my heart, but, dammit people - it's not the same! I'm sick of people
trying to make me feel better - I know y'all have good intentions, but
it doesn't help! The pain and the reality are still the same and my
brother is still gone. Unless you can bring him back, don't even try.
Just give me a hug and leave me alone to, once again, swallow my 'new'
reality.<br />
<br />
I have an amazing job and my own apartment and I finally
feel like my life is moving forward as far as success is concerned.
However, I still feel like I'm at a standstill. I don't want to move
forward without my brother and yet, here I am, having to move, reluctant
step after reluctant step, forward into my future without him. Yes, I
do have my happiness a lot more, but all my happiness feels like some
sort of a cover for the clouds and the storms still raging deep within
me. Life just doesn't make sense without Ian. It's as if I cannot
force myself to fully accept that this is reality and not just some
nightmare I'll awaken from one day. I miss my brother and I'd give
anything to be able to hear his voice coaching me through life once
more... (once again, please don't give me that 'he's talking to me
through my heart or from what I learned from him in the past crap...
it's not the same and you all know it! So just... seriously, STOP) I
just want my brother. I don't want anyone's advice! I'm sick of people
giving me advice on how to still feel like my brother is around. I
hate it more than anything else! He is GONE. Stop trying to make me
feel for something that isn't really there. He's NOT there. I want him
back as he was before July 2nd, 2011. I want my flesh and blood
brother back. I want to be back to starting our real future out in
California together. I want to go back to our plans to buy my mom's
house and live close to each other! I want my kids to hear stories from
their crazy uncle Ian! I want to know what his kids would look like! I
want nieces and nephews... real, blood, nieces and nephews. I'll NEVER
have them! Marriage nieces and nephews are one thing, but I want to
grow up spoiling my brother's kids - and now I never will. To those of
you who have siblings with kids - cherish your nieces and nephews
forever. They are such an amazing blessing. For those of you who have
always been an only child - be glad. You never have to deal with
expecting to one day have amazing nieces and nephews running around and
then have that torn away from you. Nothing in life is certain and it
sucks.<br />
<br />
I want my brother... I want my future with him back. I
want my real dreams back. The career I'm in, yes, it's part of my
dream... but all of my dreams seem pointless without my brother in
them...I hate it.<br />
<br />
On that terrible July 2011 day...my entire life stopped making sense and it hasn't made sense since.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-22316677435004046002011-12-25T18:04:00.001-08:002011-12-25T18:04:40.114-08:00A New Kind of Christmas<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;"><b>The First Christmas Alone</b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Getting through the holidays without him</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There’s a Marine, freshly graduated from bootcamp, behind me as I fly home for Christmas this year. He sleeps so deeply that even the turbulence and the crying children all around don’t disturb him in the least bit. He’s gone through so much and been so sleep deprived over the past three months, it must feel so good for him to finally be able to rest his eyes for real. There is no way he can even imagine what things will be like from here on...</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I remember flying home with Ian after he graduated from bootcamp...He was one of the few Marines from his class that refused to wear his uniform on the plane. He claimed he was sick of it and was embarrassed any time my mom gushed on about how proud she was and how her son was now a Marine. On the plane, I sat in the middle, my mom was in the window and my brother was in the aisle. Like the Marine currently behind me, my brother quickly fell into a deep well-earned sleep. I took a picture of him sleeping on the plane. At the time, I took it because he was pretty much sleeping with his mouth wide open or his chin so deeply nestled in his chest that he looked ridiculous. Now, that picture is such a cherished memory. I can still remember how it felt to slip my arm around my brother’s (even though he tried to tighten up so I couldn’t slip it in there... he gave up eventually!) then rested my head against his shoulder and fell asleep myself. I can still remember the feel of that fabric against my face. My brother’s scent filling up my senses for the first time in three months. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I now find myself thinking of other encounters with Ian. I remember the day he graduated bootcamp. I was snapping pictures left and right as they marched around. I fell in love with California on that day with the bright sunshine and gorgeous weather. However, it wasn’t the sunshine and the weather that really made me fall in love, it was the fact that I was there with my brother. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The graduation seemed to take forever. Ian’s squad first ran up in their short pt shorts and I couldn’t help but laugh. My mom and I noticed Ian sneak a look our way and smile. I remember that exact look and that exact boyish crack of a smile perfectly. I was freaking out the entire run and throughout the entire graduation as they marched in perfect unison in front of us. I cheered so loudly as my brother received his Eagle Globe and Anchor and when it was finally time for us to greet our Marines I SPRINTED down from the stands, ahead of my family and ran straight into Ian’s arms. He’d remained dry-eyed until the moment we connected. As I jumped into his arms and he hugged tightly I could feel his tears on my shoulders. He hugged me so tightly and kept whispering over and over in my ear. “I love you, sis. I’ve missed you. I love you, I’ve missed you... I love you.... I’ve missed you.” Mom had to pry us apart in order to get her hug, but I can still feel my brothers tears when I close my eyes and feel his arms around me tight. My brother was coming home with us... he was coming home. (On a side note: The next morning at home I woke up to him watching elmo’s world downstairs... that’s my brother!)</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s difficult how, out of the many flights we’d flown together through our lives, I only remember two of them vividly. His flight home from bootcamp, and his final flight. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> It’s been so difficult these past few months as my life has been taking major turns and I don’t have my brother to tell about it all. I want so badly to tell him about how I am now an EMT... I want to hear him say that he’s proud of me that he loves me... People keep saying that he is telling me that in my heart and that he knows, but it isn’t the same... </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, I’m flying over Colorado on my way home to Minnesota for the first time since the funeral. It’s Christmas in two days and yet I refuse to believe that it’s the Holiday season. There’s been no arguing over whose year it is to put the star on Christmas day on our ornament calendar nor arguments over which ornaments get to be hung by which one of us on the tree. (Granted, the last time we had these arguments, they were purely for the fun of it and we were each trying to force the other to do all the work) There will be no phone calls, no Christmas care packages, no presents for Ian this year. It really is amazing how the greatest present every Christmas that he was deployed, the one we got the most excited over, was a phone call and the chance to hear his voice... to hear him say that he loves us. There will be no snow balls thrown at my face every time we went outside, no being pushed in the snow bank, no cranking the heat in the Ranger together as we slip and slide around on our way to go see the family. I miss the feeling I got simply from sitting in that truck next to him...I was home. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">People keep telling me that they don’t know who I am anymore. That I seem to have lost myself... that I need to let go. The thing is, I’m not holding on to anything that I’m ever going to let go of. I will forever hold on to my brother because he will forever be a part of me. As for me being lost... I am lost. Not only am I lost, I’m homeless. When I was with my brother is the only time I have ever felt at home. Even the homeless have a home somewhere. Your home is wherever you feel most relaxed, most like yourself... it is where you can open your heart and just trust. Ian was my home... so with that description... yeah... I have lost myself. I felt it shatter and fall away the day I opened that door. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There’s no place like home for the Holidays. I’m glad I’m flying back to MN this week. I plan on spending the vast majority of the 25th with my home. Freezing my butt off with him once more at the Fort Snelling Cemetery. It will be nice to be close to my brother again... to wish him a Merry Christmas and tell him that I love him.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s a tear-drenched Christmas this year and as we move forward into the 2012 year, I brace myself for my first year without him... 2011 was difficult, but at least I had my brother for half of it. 2012, however, I’m on my own.</span></div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-63741406355529351332011-12-15T22:32:00.000-08:002011-12-15T22:32:19.028-08:00The Saddest HappinessHours and hours of studying and stress. Days and days of exhaustion and no social life. Finally, the day has come where I have to take my EMT-B written exam. My stomach was completely knotted and my hands were shaking as I approached the computer and carefully chose each answer. One-Hundred and Fifty questions later, I've passed. I'm able to relax and be happy with my classmates and practice our practical skills with ease now that the worst part is over. I'm able to be happy and relieved that I passed. Then class ends... I get in my car... and reality sets in once more.<br />
<br />
I want to tell Ian...<br />
<br />
I want more than anything in the world to call him right now and tell him that I passed my exam. That I'm finally finishing the training he proudly watched me start a year ago. That I'm finally moving forward with my life and really making something of myself. I want to call him and tell him more than anyone in the world. My heart is once again torn in half. I don't want to move forward with life... not if Ian isn't here to tell me he's proud of me... It's as if so many of life's joys have been robbed out from under me because I don't have my best friend to share them with. I want to tell Ian I passed my test... reality has hit me so hard once more. It just doesn't make sense... this isn't how it's supposed to be... I am left, on one of the happiest and proudest days in my life, a broken down and crying mess on my floor... I just want my bruh bruh...Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-44180257208265771822011-11-04T10:34:00.000-07:002011-11-04T10:45:54.097-07:00Four MonthsFour Months....<br />
<br />
I cannot believe how quickly the time has gone by and yet how fresh the pain still feels. As I trudge through this rainy day, I find myself feeling oddly nostalgic for the funeral home room where Ian's casket had resided for the visitation. I wish I could go back to that dimly lit room, the smell of his decay floating in the air, complete silence all around me, and just sit with him and cry on the couch once again. I wish I could feel the comfort of knowing that there was a Marine in the next room - a random stranger - that was watching over my brother and myself. I wish I could feel Ian's physical presence right there with me again. Even in death, his body still warmed the room. On the day my brother's body was placed in the ground, I completely cracked. That warmth, that feeling of him still being near me was lost in the ground. It was in that moment that the full reality hit me.<br />
<br />
<i>He's left me here, alone</i>.<br />
<br />
I wish I could have stayed in the dark with him forever...<br />
<br />
Instead, the light shines on me and I'm forced to keep stepping forward into reality.<br />
<br />
<i>One step at a time, </i><br />
<i>I get through each day. </i><br />
<i>One tear at a time, </i><br />
<i>I cry myself to sleep each night. </i><br />
<i>All I want is Ian. </i><br />
<i>All I want is my big brother.</i><br />
<br />
It's strange to me, that I keep wanting to be in that dimly lit room. Although I do wish that I could have Ian back, this isn't even why I wish to be back in that room. However, what I do want is for that feeling of warmth and comfort in my sorrow. I want to feel that raw pain again. I want to be in the same room as him again. There was something almost warm about when I first found out he was gone. I am not sure if it was the hope that he could possibly still be alive, or if it was all the support <i> </i>we had from loved ones, or if it was simply the nice calming break from life - but it was warm despite the cold sorrow. Now, I feel only icy cold jabbing into my heart. It is a feeling of deep despair and exhaustion while feeling numb through and through. I just want to break off from the rest of the world and sit with my brother. I'd give anything to curl up with a sleeping bag by his grave and fall asleep right there for days on end. I just want to be near my brother once more.<br />
<br />
Time and time again I reach for my phone to call and tell Ian about something going on in my life, or ask him if he wants to come over for Thanksgiving, or see if he plans on seeing the new Batman movie, or if he's heard about a new video game coming out. Time and time again I'm left drowning in the sorrow of realization as I place my phone back into my pocket.<br />
<br />
I have so much love and support around me and yet none of it feels like enough. No one is my brother and no one could ever be my brother. I'm so grateful for all that everyone has been trying to do, but it isn't the same. I'm able to forget for a few hours while I hang out with friends or go dancing at In Cahoots, but, at the end of the day, I'm still left to deal with the pain. No one understands it - no one can fully comprehend my pain. All I want to do is curl up on that couch again, smell my brother's scent (decay or not... it was still Ian...) and sleep.<br />
<br />
I miss you, Ian. I miss you more than you or anyone else could possibly know. We had a friendship closer than any I have ever seen. Thank you for always being open with me and sharing the details of your life. I love you so much. You are my one and only forever. Just like you can't be you without me, I cannot be me without you. Instead I'm lost in this lump of sorrow. I try to move forward, I try to let other people help pull me out, but, at the end of the day, I'm just stuck here without you. I need my angel to come save me...<br />
<br />
I love you always, best friend.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-2736907461565444502011-09-07T12:52:00.000-07:002011-09-07T12:52:08.314-07:00Moving ForwardTired.<br />
<br />
That is the only word I can think of to describe how I have felt since the day my brother died. I wish that God would literally move my body like a puppett so I don't have to think to move it myself. Work, school, finances - even social life - I just want to quit it all and lay on the beach and cry. I'm so exhausted and stressed. Dealing with life and all of its crap, even the good things, is almost too much for me right now.<br />
<br />
I sit at work - I do everything I can to smile and be extra awesome and friendly to patients as they come in and on the phone, but I feel myself just draining away and wanting to be anywhere else but here.<br />
<br />
School - I study for hours on end - I do everything I can to retain all the information. Being a good EMT and eventually an excellent Paramedic means everything to me. However, no matter how hard I study, it is like nothing sticks any more. My brain is fried. I know all this information already and yet, when it comes time to take the tests online, I just cannot do it.<br />
<br />
Social Life - I love spending time with my friends and I love being around them, but there are so many things I just do not want to deal with. Regular friendships are awesome, but the idea of a relationship just completely overwhelms me. It's almost like I don't ever want to be in a relationship ever again and yet I want to feel loved and be held...all the things that come with a relationship without the emotional side of it from me. I want to take care of them, make them food etc, but emotionally... it's like I'm completely shut off. I just cannot care.<br />
<br />
I want so badly to be a completely caring person like I used to be. I want to be like Ian, but no matter how hard I try it's like I just plain cannot care anymore. I keep plugging forward, keep doing everything I need to do, but the motivation just isn't there. It's like Ian took everything that made me... ME... with him.<br />
<br />
I suppose it makes sense. When Ian died my home went with him. Ian was who raised me and he is everything that makes up who I am. Now, I just don't know where to go. I lost my idol, my life, my everything... and I no longer know how to be Meg, because Meg and Ian were the same person with only slight modification. It's not that I've never been me all these years, it's that me was Ian. (if that makes any sense...) <br />
<br />
I keep dreading the weirdest things. The idea of getting married and not knowing who is going to walk me down the aisle. After my dad and my relationship became slightly rocky, I always knew it would be Ian, but now who? I dread my next birthday, because Ian will forever be stuck at the age of 24. We will no longer be 3 years apart... the day I pass Ian in age... it's going to crush me. <br />
<br />
Christmas without Ian is going to be empty. We were at least able to count on a phone call from him around that time. Now, we can expect nothing.<br />
<br />
I've also lost my ability to fly for free through my dad. Delta is having an audit, so I can no longer get by as just an EMT student. I have to be a full time bachelor degree pursuing student. I feel completely marooned - separated from Ian, my mom, my friends in Michigan. California is no longer an easy transition. I'm completely lost in what I need and where I need to be. <br />
<br />
I'm clinging to God, still, with all that I am. I put my entire being into my faith to survive, but my heart cannot even feel the familiar fire burning inside. It really is as if everything inside of me as just died.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry this has seemed to be nothing except a depressive rant, but welcome to life after death. I know it will get better one day - or that is what people keep telling me, but, in the mean time, this is how I am. :-\<br />
<br />
McConnell OutMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-6916293744511315682011-08-27T01:31:00.000-07:002011-08-27T01:31:21.779-07:00I need you...I want so badly to be with my brother - I want so badly to see him again. I need to hear him tell me he loves me, that I'm beautiful and that he will never leave me, but he can't...<br />
<br />
I'm so sick and tired of being strong. Ian was always the strong one and he's the one who is gone - how the hell do people expect me to keep holding on when he's the one that was always so much stronger than me?? What does the world expect from me? What the hell kind of future could possibly exist without my brother - I hate it. I miss Ian so damn much.<br />
<br />
I'm so tired of being strong... why did Ian leave me here to fight alone when he is supposed to be fighting through this messed up life with me? Why isn't he here every time my heart is broken or I need advice? Why isn't he here??<br />
<br />
I need him so badly - I'm clinging to God with all that have left and still I've completely run out of strength. I need my bruh bruh...<br />
<br />
I love you Ian... come back... I need my home - my safe haven - my place to rejuvenate... please...<br />
<br />
<br />
Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-73713968655760329622011-08-26T11:55:00.000-07:002013-07-02T00:17:47.950-07:00The Harsh Reality of Saying GoodbyeThere is a small voice in the back of my mind that is absolutely screaming, <br />
<br />
<em>“No! Don’t do it! Please, don’t make me remember!”</em><br />
<br />
There is a desperate clawing inside my heart, telling me to turn back now before I am forced to feel the pain and agony once more, but Ian's story needs to get out! My fingers plunge forward into the story with my heart attached, as I continue to tell about the week my world was shattered and the day my heart was buried six feet under the earth.<br />
<br />
On the day of the funeral, I knew it would be difficult when I woke up in Ian's bed and immediately started to cry. I pulled the sheets back over my head and curled up in a small ball, trying to hide from the pain. Perhaps, I could sleep through the funeral. Perhaps, I could skip out on the horrors of that day. No, Ian cannot be gone. I was grasping desperately for my fake reality as I felt it slipping away. Please, dear God, no! I held onto myself tighter, afraid that, if I let go, I would lose myself completely.<br />
<br />
After a few more tears, curiosity, and a deeply buried need, were what drove me to get out of bed. I was <em>curious</em> to see how the day would go. I<em> needed</em> the chance to say goodbye. Getting ready for the funeral took longer than it would have taken me on a normal day. I had to reapply my make up about four times before I was finally able to stop crying long enough to allow the mascara to stick. At times, I would put down my make up, place my hands on the bathroom counter and just look at myself in the mirror. As I did, I would watch my image blur and my face become contorted as a new wave of strength-depleting grief swept over me and the counter became all that kept me standing.<br />
<br />
Dressed in black, makeup applied, and a new black summer hat placed gently on my head, I took a deep breath and walked downstairs to face the day. The doorbell rang its earily happy chime and, at the door, stood our CACO dressed in his blues and ready to go. I felt myself fill with fear as I continued to feel reality breaking through my defenses.<br />
<br />
<i>It was time</i><br />
<br />
The extended family drove in separate cars while Mom, Mark, and I all joined our CACO in his black SUV. I sat in front so that my mom could be next to Mark in back and use him as support. We drove the block to the funeral home where the two lines of three Marines were already carrying the casket, still flag-draped, to the hearse. As they shut the door, I prayed with all the pieces of my aching heart for some small sliver of comfort. It was then that I noticed Daniel Botty climbing in the front seat of the hearse. Daniel Botty would be the one guarding Ian in the hearse on the way to the church. He looked at me with those kind eyes, once again, and I knew Ian was safe; <em>this</em> brought me great comfort.<br />
<br />
With our police escort, we drove the 40 minutes to the church. I took advantage of the long ride to gather myself. I felt weak and tired, as if I had just ran a marathon. None of my muscles wanted to move and my mind did not want to think. I sat in the silent prison of my empty thoughts as I waited for my burial.<br />
<br />
We arrived at the front of the church to find it lined with the proud members of the Patriot Guard just as they had lined the funeral home. The sun was shining brightly and the air was thick with humidity, yet they still stood tall and strong without a single complaint about the heat. A single thought crossed my mind.<br />
<br />
<em>Ian would have been so proud.</em><br />
<br />
Once again, two rows of three Marines gathered at the back of the hearse. With sharp movements, they lifted the casket and carried it up the steps to the church. I wiped a tear away before the rest of me would notice that I was hurting - that I had a reason to hurt, but, inside, I knew I would not be able to keep lying to myself for much longer. Soon, I would have to accept the truth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The reverend stood at the doors of the church and a white cloth was placed over the flag on top of the casket. The reverend then had the entire immediate family gather around Ian as he said a prayer of blessing and strength. I felt something inside me crack. It did not break, but it cracked and I spent the entirety of the prayer in tears.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6JyoJQvPdbDfXqmuGmgy55lu_jF_EUfdgEVVBwV_cpBZKJ90oViPmWkeMFgsrGf87UzU6En8UY2iAG41-GbmfjoohSZp2yBb360L1c7whxNNSQFNNXmNozVuDF0Sua1mHJb8pMZSDCKJ/s1600/282727_1858968555402_1276530039_31665774_6366496_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6JyoJQvPdbDfXqmuGmgy55lu_jF_EUfdgEVVBwV_cpBZKJ90oViPmWkeMFgsrGf87UzU6En8UY2iAG41-GbmfjoohSZp2yBb360L1c7whxNNSQFNNXmNozVuDF0Sua1mHJb8pMZSDCKJ/s320/282727_1858968555402_1276530039_31665774_6366496_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
After the prayer, I sat in the pews and prepared for what I would say at the reception by 'translating' a bit that Ian had written and I had found in his journal. I say translating because, as anyone who has ever received a letter from Ian can tell you, it is worse than a doctor's handwriting. I even had to ask my cousins to help me decipher a few of the words. Eventually we were able to put his words in my own, readable, handwriting and the service was ready to begin.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I don't remember much of the funeral service. I remember the church was packed full of people to the point of being standing room only. I remember how good it felt to hug Father Jerry, the reverend Ian and I grew up with, for the first time in years. I remember his sermon... how he talked about how God is our parent and how, like most parents, when His children cry out to him for something He is moved. He painted a picture of Ian crying 'Abba, Father' as Christ did - which is the same as saying 'Please, Daddy.' As Ian might have cried, 'please, Daddy, take away these nightmares! Please, take away this pain! Please, Daddy, please." The image of Ian crying this out pains me so much. Whether Ian shot himself because of a PTSD nightmare or because of suicide, it still kills me to think about how much pain my brother must have been in. <br />
<br />
The service ended and we recessed out. Sarah Meissner's family was kind enough to have over 300 bottles of water waiting for everyone to take with them to the burial. The water was greatly appreciated by the Marines, especially, who all stood tall and proud in their Dress Blues, but you could tell they were dying of heat. We spoke, briefly, with people outside before hopping back in the black SUV and following the police on the long drive to Fort Snelling Cemetery.<br />
<br />
I no longer get angry at traffic. You never know what the cause of the traffic really is and, if you assume it is always for a funeral, you might find that traffic no longer frustrates you either. Our procession line was a mile long traffic-stopper. I still remember looking behind us and being in complete awe at how many cars there were. Even on the longest straight-away I could not see the end of it and our poor police escort was playing leap frog the entire time, as he blocked traffic from crossing into our line. With blinkers on and police lights flashing we were Ian's last and quietest caravan. No IED's would bother our Marine on this journey.<br />
<br />
Forcing myself to move onward to the next part in the story is almost impossible... for it is here that my veil was taken away and my defenses were shattered. It was here, and the days to follow that, to me, my brother actually was dead. It was here, that I buried my heart.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsR2xwzZlR4-QJKqokM7USUMPTZoMZ5II6xs9lHhZYRV74JpQFkjURXgHXGQXY0SQiexbvdQ1hrWTeo_iQ-8i-2U_kjUXyheZDmFYYtr6i_IZs1kpxs-jJzQnyb5-LLi4dc46UBH2YSddB/s1600/270473_1858969475425_1276530039_31665779_2500260_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsR2xwzZlR4-QJKqokM7USUMPTZoMZ5II6xs9lHhZYRV74JpQFkjURXgHXGQXY0SQiexbvdQ1hrWTeo_iQ-8i-2U_kjUXyheZDmFYYtr6i_IZs1kpxs-jJzQnyb5-LLi4dc46UBH2YSddB/s200/270473_1858969475425_1276530039_31665779_2500260_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>We pulled up to the gazebo where Ian's casket was unloaded and placed, the flag still proudly draped over its smooth surface. My feet felt heavier and heavier with each step I took towards the shaded bench. My mom tried to make me sit on the bench next to her, but I gave my spot to Mark and remained standing. I could not force myself to sit down. All I could do was stand there numbly as the funeral party began to gather around us. Something did not feel right. Something was wrong. Something hurt. Where was Ian? A prayer was said, and "Taps" floated over the crowd from a lone bugle. Beautiful, clear, and sad with each note held to perfection - the song melted away any defenses I had left to shield me from the truth.<br />
<br />
<i>With the sound of gunfire, my world was shattered.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV0wTSVfFDh51XmCvt39P0Bh7Lkv1rm6yrqZHesJRYRhrlSq9rqx1z3UgE_Xy-lhVLyPsD_EAwul1vD6xFD25vqF0Dd4GWtOYL1SwQRgyifH_CC9RKWcZ4sS_BVAd8BAUQqU8ZY1FZ7Ha/s1600/269014_2271359385166_1284060054_32858331_5571409_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV0wTSVfFDh51XmCvt39P0Bh7Lkv1rm6yrqZHesJRYRhrlSq9rqx1z3UgE_Xy-lhVLyPsD_EAwul1vD6xFD25vqF0Dd4GWtOYL1SwQRgyifH_CC9RKWcZ4sS_BVAd8BAUQqU8ZY1FZ7Ha/s200/269014_2271359385166_1284060054_32858331_5571409_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>The shots rang out loudly as they echoed through the cemetery; each one breaking my heart more and more. I bent over as grief took me over and sobs rattled my chest. I felt arms wrap around me and hold me and I felt the cold sting of another's tears on my neck as we stood there and cried together. Kati Moore, my dear sister in Christ and my best friend for over 19 years, cried with me as we had done so many times before over skinned knees when we were little. This time, however, it was more than just skinned knees: it was hearts shattered into a thousand pieces.<br />
<br />
We watched, with tear stung eyes, as the flag that had been draped over Ian's casket this entire journey was carefully folded and placed into the arms of my mother. She clutched the flag close to her heart as if it were her baby boy and he once more needed his mommy to comfort him. Then, the Marines unfolded a second flag, ceremoniously draped it over the coffin, then folded it and presented it to my dad. Bless my dad's heart, he stood there, tall and strong- a proud veteran, with tears in his eyes as he gently took the flag and brought it close to his heart.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqjmbx7KSOtBcrPVbOzExjMGnI3-0rVHrLguwk5-HGglbbdXlYFephlqZcRpZX47bAmdl1bx5k7flGPjoaAb4k1AO8bxQ4Ij96OM3rqP9jO2fksrrMXaV5QREUoyDyDk6w2WNAXbay2g5/s1600/270597_1858970235444_1276530039_31665782_345941_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqjmbx7KSOtBcrPVbOzExjMGnI3-0rVHrLguwk5-HGglbbdXlYFephlqZcRpZX47bAmdl1bx5k7flGPjoaAb4k1AO8bxQ4Ij96OM3rqP9jO2fksrrMXaV5QREUoyDyDk6w2WNAXbay2g5/s200/270597_1858970235444_1276530039_31665782_345941_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
Somehow, I managed to pull myself together and I gave Kati one last hug. The funeral party was asked to proceed to the reception area while the immediate family witnessed the burial. My dad excused himself for this part and he and Candace went away with everyone else to the officer's club. I gave some quick hugs and then we headed towards the grave site. <br />
<br />
We waited in the car while the copper casket was loaded into a big stone box by a giant crane and brought over to where we were. I had asked my mom if I'd be able to touch the casket one last time before it was put in the ground. She had said I would be able to, but I never was as the crane immediately positioned itself over the hole in the ground. This was the first of many events that finally destroyed me.<br />
<br />
Slowly, carefully, hesitantly, I got out of the car and began to walk towards the hole. The giant stone crate containing my brother hovered in the air over the grave - waiting to be placed in the ground. One step, two steps, I somehow managed to find myself standing at the edge of the hole's end. I watched with horror as the giant stone crate was lowered into the ground and came to a stop six feet down. There, on the top of the stone read my worst fear:<br />
<br />
<i>Sgt Ian Williams McConnell</i><br />
<i>4/4/87-7/6/11</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
We were burying my brother. Ian was being placed in the ground. He was going to be covered in dirt and I would never be able to see him again. I would never be able to catch a hint of his scent even among the stench of decay. I would never again to be able to be in his presence. I would never again be able to see his face nor come to him for advice. He would never again comfort me as I cried or tell me when I was being stupid. I would never hear his voice again. I couldn't do it - I couldn't bury my brother. Who in their right mind would want to? How the hell was I going to get through this? I wanted so badly to jump in that hole and wrap my arms around the cold stone and just lay there forever. I did not care if they buried me alive - I wanted to be with Ian.<br />
<br />
I could feel my knees get weak as I burst into tears. No longer able to hold myself up I allowed my cousins to do it for me, one on either side. I cried harder than I have ever cried in my life as my head screamed, "no, please! please don't bury my brother!." I watched as various family members ceremoniously threw dirt on top of him and it only made matters worse. They were throwing dirt on top of Ian - they were burying him! Any hope of him coming back to life was being thrown in with the dirt. I was asked if I wanted to throw dirt in as well. This, I flat out <i>refused</i> to do. I was not going to partake in burying my brother.<br />
<br />
We began to walk back to the car, my cousins still holding me up as I cried. My entire world felt cold and black. I felt sick to my stomach. The funeral director called out to us asking if we wanted to take some of the roses from the flower donations home with us. I looked at the roses then at her - sorrow still in complete control of my heart.<br />
<br />
"Can I give one to Ian?" I asked, meekly.<br />
<br />
I was not about to bury my brother, but if I could give him some life - that seemed okay. I took a single red rose from the director and slowly walked back to the grave; this time carrying my own weight. I kissed the rose and tossed it in on top of the stone. It landed perfectly below his name - a bit of life surrounded by death. It is a mental picture that still warms my heart to this day.<br />
<br />
<i>I love you Ian</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
With those last words, I turned around and walked towards my cousins and, once again, allowed them to support me back to the car. I climbed into the front seat and looked back at the grave as I pressed my face up against the window. To my horror, I watched as the groundsman signaled for the dump truck full of dirt to back up towards my brother.<br />
<br />
"Mommy, please, make them stop." was all I could say before horror completely took me over. "They are going to bury my brother in front of me!" I cried out, eyes wide.<br />
<br />
I could hear my mom crying out, "No!!! Lord! What are they doing!?" over and over again. Our CACO heard us and rushed over to the groundsman who made the dump truck stop just before it was about to empty it's load and bury my brother in front of my eyes.<br />
<br />
The damage, however, was already done. Like someone who had just had not only their heart, but also their mind and all their senses completely ripped from their body I covered my ears with my hands and buried my face in my knees as I rocked back and forth and cried. Stuck in my head, was the image of the truck full of dirt backing up towards where my brother lay. It is an image that still haunts me today. I continuously have nightmares of dump trucks preparing to bury both me and Ian as we cry out for them to stop. Ian pushes me out of the grave and the last thing I see are his marble-colored eyes, the same unique color as mine, looking sadly at me before he is crushed by pounds and pounds of dirt - his cries filling my ears. Then, I wake up... and the nightmare is still real. Ian was not buried alive, but he is still gone.<br />
<br />
I rode with my head between my knees, crying with all my might, the entire way to the reception. I had to sit and breathe in the car before walking inside and, even then, once I got inside and Sarah and Brandon each gave me a hug I burst out crying again. I hid in the bathroom for a good amount of time before finally joining the reception. <br />
<br />
The stories from the reception and the bar that evening are for another entry all together. I'll use that entry to share some of my favorite memories of Ian and I'll go more into depth of just how amazing a person he was and just how many lives he was able to touch in the short amount of time he lived. I will also go into the emotional and faith struggle that followed the funeral service. The nightmares, the late nights crying, the mental break downs. I felt like an empty shell for so long.<br />
<br />
<i>It's over... the hardest part to write, is over</i>.<br />
<br />
I hope I was able to get across the weight of these events so that you, dear reader, can understand them. I still have nightmares, I still feel empty and cold, and I still miss my brother. Most of these things, I fear, will never change - I will simply get used to them. In the mean time, I cling to God with all that I have left and pray that He might restore to me a new heart as I have lost the one He gave me at birth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxjRxikWSUz1G8euYkAgoLkBhgIdvwxXyt2FI8RuuaslvXntocBKn-EJgedL4vOo_oL8pIxkVGEpaEz2umBPpIi8ZCwXX48G77Ebf1LtC-UDEk2-oI2NnHRUhC3pIiKz0wL1FVELSOP5l/s1600/284524_1891866577832_1276530039_31706014_7128164_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxjRxikWSUz1G8euYkAgoLkBhgIdvwxXyt2FI8RuuaslvXntocBKn-EJgedL4vOo_oL8pIxkVGEpaEz2umBPpIi8ZCwXX48G77Ebf1LtC-UDEk2-oI2NnHRUhC3pIiKz0wL1FVELSOP5l/s320/284524_1891866577832_1276530039_31706014_7128164_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>My heart lays buried six feet deep with the Marine who I call 'home.'</i>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-40956546985291339052011-08-25T12:08:00.000-07:002013-07-01T23:58:57.779-07:00VisitationThe next few days at home were very much like the first. We had a fridge that was overflowing with food from friends and many visitors thoughout the process of grief. My mom's family came in town from all over the nation to be with us. This was a bittersweet event, as it was so good to see them, but the circumstances were not what we had hoped would be the basis for our next family reunion. Yet, there we were, together, as one depressed mob of people.<br />
<br />
We ate, we drank, we talked, we went to church - all that lovely family stuff, but I won't go into detail with all of that, because, to be honest, I really don't feel pulled to do so.<br />
<br />
We had a lot of struggles with the funeral home at last minute. The funeral home had failed to tell us that they did not have a fridge to put my still-decaying brother's body in and the beautiful wood coffin the Marine Corps had supplied us was not doing a good job of containing the stench. They told us that we could purchase a copper coffin that would seal the scent if we wished. We were furious at this! Why would we buy a whole new coffin when they had failed to tell us that the particular branch we had Ian at did not have a fridge? Mark had a few choice words with them and, after much convincing, they finally gave us not only a free copper coffin for Ian, but also made the entire funeral free. We accepted their offer (of course), but the damage had already been done... this is not the kind of thing that any family should have to deal with at their loved one's funeral... (this was only a small fraction of the difficulties we had with the funeral home too)<br />
<br />
The day of the visitation came and I was still able to remain hidden in my own happy little world. The extended family arrived at the funeral home early in order to have some alone time with Ian before everyone else arrived. I was happy to see that Daniel Botty was once again on guard; his face as kind as ever, as well as a large group of patriot guard members - standing as a strong wall around the funeral home with flags firmly in hand. They opened the doors for us and we stepped into the funeral home with our heads held high. <br />
<br />
The room was beautiful with flowers from various friends of Ian and mine growing up - our P.E.E.R listening group, our high school, our doctors - so many people had donated flowers! The scent of decay had been sealed tightly within the coffin (much to my dismay...) and the fragant scent of flowers filled the room. It broke my heart watching my grandmother and grandfather cry as they touched Ian's coffin gingerly - their frail hands shaking. My grandmother is one of the strongest women I know and seeing her cry took an extra strong stab at my heart. Then there was papa, my dear sweet little papa who is never seen at a family event without a camera in his hand - funeral included. However, the camera was not flashing every two seconds as it would be at any other family event. Instead, it hung lifeless around his neck as he wrapped his arm around grammy, exhaustion and sadness covering their faces.<br />
<br />
I looked at Ian's coffin, missing him once more, but determined to not let the reality of his death set in. I looked at my mother with a mischevious grin on my face, then promptly walked right up to the copper box and gave it a swift kick. A loud 'clunk!' filled the room as I stepped back from the coffin, satisfied. My mom looked at me with a curious look on her face - as did my grandmother and grandfather.<br />
<br />
"I had to give the idiot one last kick!" I replied simply.<br />
<br />
My mother laughed (it was so good to hear her laugh!) and my grandmother smiled and chuckled.<br />
<br />
"Do it again," said grammy and that is exactly what I did.<br />
<br />
I always seemed to get more hurt trying to beat him up, than he ever did - even when he just stood there and laughed at me, not fighting back at all, as I would baby my hurt appendage that had been chosen for the attack. This time, it was my toes that were bruised, but I had a grin on my face and was proud of my chance to attempt to beat Ian up one last time. (or at least his box...)<br />
<br />
Guests began to arrive and I was able to stay hidden in my veiled reality by distracting myself with greeting everyone. Visitors came that I have not seen since I was five years old; as well as some that I had seen just days before when they'd come to our house to visit us. We had visitors from Washington DC, CA, MI, Fl, Al - all had come to pay their respects to Ian. I had a smile on my face as I skipped from group to group excitedly talking with everyone. I think I confused Daniel and some of the other Marines by my strange happiness. Everyone kept calling it strength - telling me I was being very strong through all of this. This was only part truth. It was true that I wanted to stay strong and not cry so that I could be their for my mom and my family while they grieved. However, I was really only able to smile because I was still hiding in my own reality; the one where Ian wasn't dead and these were just a bunch of friends that had come together to visit. Deep down, my theory did not add up. Deep down, I knew the truth, but I was not about to admit it to myself.<br />
<br />
The visitation came to a close and my sore ankles had been rubbed raw by my shoes. I was very happy when I was finally able to take them off. We said one last goodbye to Ian before heading home to rest up before the next day's events.<br />
<br />
I need to stop my recollections here... the visitation is easy for me to write about, but I'm sure it is not so easy to read as it was not that interesting an event. No tears, no drama, no crying... just one girl getting through the day by lying to herself. I had planned on including the funeral in this entry, but I decided not to for two reasons:<br />
<br />
1) It feels like the funeral should have its on entry so that I can really focus on each and every detail.<br />
<br />
2) I'm not ready yet...<br />
<br />
McConell Out<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiCLOIOUJwjBR1wpWuR1KQxiE-5Jn-tHWgdvJW48Xc1b7Gpzu0WwtKX4bnQJwp9C0MTNsLXOJ0x-NCSvISQhOTIZj5IyN8CPodkL-9KGfnStp20dI-yapSh2JEsTlITyRdwM7FQzHaIV1/s1600/264693_1835333484540_1276530039_31634991_2750492_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiCLOIOUJwjBR1wpWuR1KQxiE-5Jn-tHWgdvJW48Xc1b7Gpzu0WwtKX4bnQJwp9C0MTNsLXOJ0x-NCSvISQhOTIZj5IyN8CPodkL-9KGfnStp20dI-yapSh2JEsTlITyRdwM7FQzHaIV1/s200/264693_1835333484540_1276530039_31634991_2750492_n.jpg" width="200px" /></a><em>"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10</em>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-638746261765895922011-08-23T15:12:00.000-07:002013-07-01T23:53:02.520-07:00Last Flight HomeThe days following July 7th were strangely normal for me. I was able to pretend that my brother was not dead – that it was all just a bad nightmare. I only had difficulty when my dad and Candace visited, as it was a moment where I almost had to admit that Ian was gone. Whenever I was hanging out with Scott, or out with friends from church, I was able to just ignore the fact that Ian was gone. It was so easy! Even when I received Ian’s dog tags from Gus and Roxanne I was able to convince myself that they were a gift from an Ian that was alive. – that he had asked them to give me the dog tags while he was gone because I had pestered him to give me a set – that he would be taking them back as soon as he arrived home. <br />
When Dad and Candace visited, it was as if everything in me was revolted by the sight of them. Not because I had anything against them, but because I did not want to admit anything to myself and seeing them seemed to force me to do just that. However, I went with Amber to see them, oh, how I clung to her! <br />
<br />
<br />
Dinner went smoothly and talk was easy, but we went funeral dress shopping after dinner and that was where things became difficult. The idea of shopping for a black dress for my BROTHER’s funeral seemed preposterous. Why was I shopping for a dress for my brother’s funeral? He wasn’t dead! This was silly! I wandered around, completely lost in my thoughts, hating absolutely every dress I saw – no matter how cute it actually was.<br />
<br />
<br />
Any details dealing with Ian’s funeral, or me coming home I did not want to deal with. When my Mom and Mark had me calling Delta trying to figure out flight details my head was spinning. I was too tired to deal with this crap and there was a whole mix up with buying a ticket vs. getting one from Dad. I was supposed to be flying home the next day and I did NOT want to deal with this! The entire thing sent me into my deep hole of depression instantly. Luckily, I was hanging out with Scott that day so, once I got off the phone everything, was okay again. I was able to set it all aside, eat an awesome chicken dinner, and go back to my veiled reality.<br />
<br />
Then it happened… the first day that my veil was taken away from me:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The general experience for the trip home was fine and, had it not been for the circumstances, I would have to say it was one of my most comfortable flights. We were allowed to board the plane before everyone else, Gus and Roxanne were bumped up to first class, and the entire crew took really good care of all of us. After we boarded the plane Candace, Roxanne and I waited on the plane, peering through whatever windows we could find, while my Dad and Gus went planeside. I looked at the baggage cart and saw what seemed to be a giant refrigerator box. (The kind your fridge is literally delivered in) I was clinging to my veiled reality with all I had as I watched, through tear-blurred eyes, while all those who were planeside saluted this strange box before it disappeared into the storage area. My eyes shifted to my Dad- He stood there strong and proud holding his salute even as his eyes overflowed with tears and sobs shook his entire body. Why was my dad crying? This was a new experience to me; I had never seen my dad cry before. It was just a strange box! Why did my stomach feel sick? Why did it hurt so much to watch this box be loaded onto the plane? <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Ian…</em><br />
<br />
<br />
I broke down as the real reality managed to squeeze through a crack in my veil. It was a jabbing pain that shot straight through my heart leaving a searing hole where it had birthed. I cried, pressing up as close to the window as I could get – desperate to get closer to Ian – desperate to feel his warmth once again, but knowing, deep down, that the warmth was not there. Even if there was not a plane wall and a box separating us, I was able to tell that much. I allowed myself to feel the pain for just a few moments before I carefully closed up the crack in my veil and retreated back from this nightmare to the reality I had created in my mind: the false one.<br />
<br />
<br />
I spent the plane ride in silence; curled up in a tight ball under a blanket and trying desperately to sleep, but to no avail. My heart ached as I watched my dad writing in his journal. He would break down for but a single moment before gathering himself back together and returning to his strong emotionless facade. The entire situation seemed entirely surreal to me. Reality seemed more like a nightmare than actual reality and the dream world I was trying to exist in felt more like it should be real.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Before the flight, the pilot had asked my dad if there was anything at all that he could do. My dad’s reply: “Set him down gently.” This wish was granted by what my dad says is one of the smoothest landings he has ever experienced in his many years of flying. As we taxied the long distance to our gate I saw flashing lights of a police car and immediately recognized it as the escort bringing Mom and Mark to meet us. The plane came to a stop and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom giving the usual speech about how luggage may have shifted during flight etc., but the ending to this speech was not the usual script.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“We ask that you all, please, remain seated as the family of one of our fallen heroes exits the plane to escort their Marine home.”<br />
<br />
<br />
Even now, I cannot believe all these events actually occurred to me. Even now, I cannot believe Ian is gone. Even now, I feel as if I am recalling some other person’s story. Even now, it hurts me to tears to remember.<br />
<br />
We had to have been quite a sight as we walked to the front of the plane. My dad, a warm bear, silent and strong in his pilot’s uniform; Gus, a solid rock with well-earned pride in his dress blues; then there was me – a small child, meek and defeated, desperately clutching at the dog tags around my neck; all walking with sorrow-weighed shoulders. The passengers applauded as we reached the front of the plane – a thank you for the sacrifice we had made. <br />
<br />
<i>Did they know the conditions of my brother’s death? Would they still applaud if they knew? </i><br />
<br />
I went down the steps and ran into the arms of my mother, holding her as she cried. I was awed by her strength as she quickly composed herself then took my hand and walked with me back towards the plane. Hand in hand we stood on one side of the ramp leading up to the baggage holding area, while my dad, Gus, and a few other men stood on the other side. <br />
<br />
<br />
Two lines of six Marines marched up to the plane as the flag covered casket appeared in the doorway and began to move down the ramp. My dad and the men on his side of the ramp gave a slow salute and tears once again filled my father’s eyes. As the line of Marines took hold of the casket it was clear that they carried a burden heavier than the casket and it's contents as they carefully carried Ian over to the waiting hearse. My mom and dad embraced and cried. For a moment the ugly divorce that had shattered their ties years before was outweighed by the common sorrow of losing a son. After they released their embrace, my mom and I walked over to the hearse and gingerly touched Ian’s casket before the Marines closed the door and we were instructed to join our CACO in the SUV that would drive us to the funeral home.<br />
<br />
<br />
** I would like to make one side note. This entire process was not completely miserable for poor Ian. Apparently he and Gus had quite a ride in the hearse from the funeral home in San Diego to the airport – going about 100 mph down the freeway. We all laughed at the mental image of Ian laughing his ass off and chanting for the driver to go faster! Ah, what a glorious ride it must have been for him!<br />
<br />
The ride to the funeral home took the same 30 minutes as it has always taken for Ian and me to drive to from the airport since we were little. (Wulff funeral home is literally JUST up the street from the house we grew up in.) The smell of decay was almost overwhelming as Ian’s casket was unloaded from the hearse and placed in a small room in the center of the funeral home. It had been 2 days before Ian’s body had been found and his body had remained in the coroner’s office for 5 days before it was finally brought to a funeral home to be embalmed. (Ian always was a stinker…) The smell was imminent, but you stopped noticing it after a period of being in it, or, perhaps, that was just me, as I did not so much get used to it as I started to welcome it. It sounds weird, but having some sort of smell coming from that box reminded me that Ian was in there. There was a strange hint of Ian behind the smell of decay and I welcomed it with everything in me. I’m sure it sounds grotesque, but I would have given anything for even the smallest hint of the brother I love.<br />
<br />
<br />
My mom and I waited in the next room as Gus, being Ian’s escort, made certain Ian’s uniform had everything it needed and was presentable. This concept seemed a little weird to me as it would be a closed casket funeral, but I most certainly do honor the Marines and their traditions and it gave me a sense of relief knowing that Ian was being taken care of.<br />
<br />
I wanted so badly to see Ian – to see his body. Apparently half of his head was missing, but I did not care – I wanted to see proof, but no one would let me. I suppose that is for the better, but all the same… I wanted to kiss my brother’s cheek one last time – look at his face and tell him that I love him. I wanted to hug him, have him hold me, have him tell me everything was going to be okay – that I have grown up so much, that he is proud of me… but the corpse in that box would not help rid me of any of those desires and so, the way my brother looked in death remains a bittersweet mystery to me.<br />
<br />
Once Gus had made sure all was well, we left the funeral home and drove down the street to my mom’s house; leaving behind one of four Marines that would be taking turns guarding my brother’s body until the funeral. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Walking into my mom’s house was the next big step I had to take and, luckily, I had my ever-cheerful little shitzhu, Zoe, and my wonderful step-niece to greet me. Their innocent presence helped clear the air a little and delayed my eventual collapse on my brother’s bed, but not for long. Once Heather and Marley (step sister in law and step niece) left, I wandered up to Ian’s room. Every time my brother would deploy I would wander into his room, look at all the pictures, cuddle with his stuffed animal ‘puppy’ and cry. I had gone through these motions numerous times before, but this time it was different. I felt the same cold emptiness as I always had when he was gone, except now I was missing the one thing that pulled me through each and every time that my brother had left: <br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Hope that he would return…</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When I was finally able to make my empty shell move I wandered downstairs to complete chaos. My Aunt Sue, Mom, and Mark were having one hell of a time with the funeral home and making a whole bunch of decisions that I did not want to be included in. I quickly became sick of hearing all the discussion and excused myself to wander back up the street to the funeral home; bible clutched close to my heart once again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
As instructed earlier in the day, I knocked on the back door of the funeral home. My knock was answered by the kind-eyed Marine on guard.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Is it okay if I hang out with my brother for a little bit?” I asked, timidly, feeling rather small.<br />
<br />
<br />
The Marine smiled a comforting smile at me and led me to the dimly lit casket before leaving me alone with Ian. I stood there, dumbly, for a while, unsure of what to do before I finally decided to take a seat on the couch in front of Ian. The entire room was dim except for two soft spotlights shinning right on the flag-draped casket. It was tragically beautiful as I took in the scent of decay, once again, with a sorrow-filled heart. I felt a strange comfort, sitting there in complete silence in that dark room. It was me and Ian hanging out like we always did. I read the bible to him (I wish I remember what book…) then told him how much he hurt me and how much I loved him. I kept asking him what the hell he expected me to do now – I’d always told him that home was where he was – what was I supposed to do now? Not hearing an answer, I felt grief take over my entire being and I finally allowed myself to break down. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I cried for what felt like forever before I finally stood up and walked over to the casket. I wrapped my arms as much as I could over the top and side of the large casket – hugging it close to myself and placing my cheek against the proud colors of the flag. I stayed just like that for a while – giving my brother one last hug, not wanting to let go – afraid that when I did let go I’d never be able to hug him again – yet also knowing that I’d given my brother a final hug six weeks previous – the last time I saw him alive. I wish, more than anything, that I could have given him one more hug or seen him more recently than six weeks. It wasn’t fair! I wanted so badly to fall sleep, standing, just like that by my brother's side. My tears dropped onto the flag and, as I finally let go, I knew I needed a distraction before I completely lost myself. I looked at the Marine in the room next door and found myself automatically moving in that direction.<br />
<br />
<br />
“Are you allowed to talk, or do you have to be a silent guard?” I asked him quietly. <br />
<br />
<br />
The kindly Marine smiled that warm smile at me, once again, and replied simply, “I can do whatever you need me to do.”<br />
<br />
<br />
I sat in that waiting room with Ssgt. Daniel Botty for about an hour – asking him hundred of questions. I asked about his family, where he was from, how he met his wife, how many of these funerals he does on average – anything and everything I could focus on to distract me from the cliff I had almost fallen off of in the previous room. Daniel offered up any information openly and was such a blessing to me. <br />
<br />
<br />
By the time I left that night, I’d made a new friend and I felt a little bit better. Little did I know, that Daniel would be not only Ian’s, but my guardian angel as well throughout the next few days; He always happened to be the Marine on guard when I visited Ian, or when I needed some strength as we took some new step in the funeral process. I don’t think I could have made it without his comforting looks – they gave me so much strength. To this day, I still wish there were some way I could thank him. I even sent his wife a message, thanking her for lending me her angel to guard my brother for a little while. I took so much comfort knowing that Ian was guarded by this purple-hearted angel.<br />
<br />
<br />
Telling this much of the story has worn me out both emotionally and physically and I’m sorry if the story seems jumbled at all…I’m afraid I did not do a very good job of telling it and the most difficult parts of the story are next…I will have to wait and write those when I have more strength again…<br />
<br />
McConnell Out.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5N4E7MK7J-Wh7jKq3IcPp4MrjYmrsxq1v4huLjNqQDeaWUHlBjVQnZw9Ln4XdxHFEhdsfBjxUMnB1kpyMBMrPUKGfq9yMUUmcJskkhcC6iRMXCjA42_PmwFrIPgOwq7RTbSo730Md5h8u/s1600/282132_1853774745560_1276530039_31658951_2685367_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5N4E7MK7J-Wh7jKq3IcPp4MrjYmrsxq1v4huLjNqQDeaWUHlBjVQnZw9Ln4XdxHFEhdsfBjxUMnB1kpyMBMrPUKGfq9yMUUmcJskkhcC6iRMXCjA42_PmwFrIPgOwq7RTbSo730Md5h8u/s200/282132_1853774745560_1276530039_31658951_2685367_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<em>“I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him.”</em><br />
<br />Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-63074980349746580862011-08-19T10:30:00.000-07:002013-07-01T23:33:07.851-07:00The First Day...<em>Breathe in, breathe out; stop, think.</em> How does one describe emotion? How does one describe the feeling of having their heart torn out and their world shattered? The pain and the emotion cannot be described, but I can at least tell you the story of that day and the days to follow and hope that you get some basic idea....<br />
<br />
I'd been staying at Josh's house that night. We had argued through most of the night and I already had to wake up early for work that day so, needless to say, I was a bit pissed when he woke me up at 0600; a whole hour before my alarm was supposed to go off. He had this frantic look in his eyes and his voice was calm, but there was a slight sting of urgency behind it.<br />
<br />
"Meg, you need to get up, you need to get dressed."<br />
"But I don't have to get up for work for another hour!." I curtly replied and pulled the sheets over my head.<br />
"No, I already called Dr Kanner; there are some people coming to see you, Meg, you need to get up and get dressed."<br />
<br />
This confused me. People were coming to see me? Who the heck was coming to see me at six in the morning? I tried to coax Josh into telling me what was going on, but he wouldn't. That's when the nausea hit me. It was like a full force tidal wave rushing over my entire body. I shouldn't really call it nausea so much as it felt like someone had literally stuck their hands in my stomach and my heart and was squeezing both with all their might. It HURT. I knew something was wrong and my heart kept telling me it had to do with Ian, but that just didn't make sense to me. Ian wasn't deployed - he was home! I had moved out to CA so I could see him more! There was no way anything could have happened to him, so what was I feeling?<br />
<br />
I got dressed with shaking hands, located my bible, and clutched it tightly to myself. Who could possibly be coming for me? Is something wrong with me? What is going on? I was so scared I started to cry.<br />
<br />
Finally, after what seemed like a life time, there was a knock at the door. Josh led me over and I opened the door to see the 3 familiar faces of Benjamin Lepping (Gus), Roxanne, and Amber. One look in Amber's eyes and I knew something was wrong with Ian. She had this haunted look on her face and her eyes were large and puffy from tears. Roxanne had this look on her face that was completely indescribable - it was as if she was off in a completely different place seeing a nightmare that I could not even dream of. Why else would his 3 best friends be standing at my door right now? Was he in a motorcycle accident? Was he okay? No, Ian was not okay; I could tell this much just by looking at Amber's face. Had my brother... died in a motorcycle accident? The thoughts rushed through my head, but I held myself together.<br />
<br />
"Can we come in?" Gus's voice broke the silence.<br />
<br />
I nodded and Josh and I led the group to the dining room where I sat down with Gus on my left and Amber on my right. I already knew Ian was dead, but it wasn't until Gus confirmed it that I broke down and cried. I cried for maybe a minute before I took a deep breath, clutched my bible tighter, held Amber's hand, straightened my posture and looked Gus in the eye before asking the big question, "What happened?"<br />
<br />
The answer that came was not at all what I was expecting.<br />
<br />
"Your brother commited suicide, he shot himself."<br />
<br />
Complete shock, my world was spinning, crashing, diving, I was falling down a black hole of despair. He did what!? Not Ian! He had just been accepted to MARSOC, his little sis has just moved out to live closer to him, he lived in CALIFORNIA for heaven's sake! Sure he and Amber had recently broken up, but that was not effecting him at all; he was fine with it and had even moved on! I broke down again, this time for maybe two minutes before gathering myself again and putting my best business face on. <br />
<br />
"What now?" I asked. <br />
<br />
Gus went through to explain the whole process of how NCIS was doing an investigation and how the Marine Corps would be finding a place to keep my brother's body until it was time to go home as well as the whole process of what would happen after that. Josh informed me that Pastor Matt was on his way over and, sure enough, Matt showed up at the door about 5 minutes later. It was so good having Matt there to remind me of God's presence through all of this, but I still felt cold. Being my typical self, I did not have a single care about how I was doing. Instead, I busied myself with making sure someone was going to tell those close to Ian such as Zac and Kayti Hemmerling (I even took it upon myself to call certain individuals) and I called my mom to make sure she was okay. We exchanged our 'I love you's' and promised each other we would get through this.<br />
<br />
I received several phone calls from people from Barabbas Road Church. (Matt had asked if he could pass along the word.) After making sure I had solid support and would be okay, Gus and Roxanne left to go take care of some more stuff with this whole ordeal. <br />
<br />
I held tight to Amber's hand and talked with Matt, Josh, and Amber while excusing myself ocasionally to go outside and take a phone call or two. A few conversations still stand out to me as they were the most difficult:<br />
<br />
I texted Kayti at one point saying simply 'Call me when you find out...'<br />
'Find out what?'<br />
'love you.'<br />
'What?'<br />
'Call me later, k?'<br />
'Sure thing' 'What's going on?'<br />
'love you.'<br />
<br />
It was about 30 minutes later that I received another text from her.<br />
'I just talked to St Dennis at Ian's shop. I'm in shock. I'll call you later. Love you. Don't text Zac. He needs to focus on the range. I'll tell him when he gets home.'<br />
<br />
I got a call from Zac about an hour later. Kayti had told Zac once he got home from work. Zac and I both broke down on the phone. Both of us expressing questions that the other couldn't answer. I made sure Zac was okay and made him promise to check back soon.<br />
<br />
I remember texting Michelle then having her call me. It was a huge shock to her (as it was to everyone else..._<br />
I remember calling Sarah Meissner. I don't know who was more difficult to talk to, Sarah or Zac. I did not have to tell the news to Zac, but I did have to break it to Sarah. I had to literally choke the words out. I could feel my heart breaking all over again as I heard hers breaking over the phone. Sarah would later become one of my strongest supports through all of this. (And not just for me, but for my family as well)<br />
<br />
The rest of the afternoon was pretty much a blur. I sat in silence for the most part; the only time I really talked was when my phone rang. Amber eventually went over to her sister's place and Matt was replaced by Scott. It was a huge comfort having Scott there, especially when he took out his guitar and started to play... it reminded me of all the times I needed comforting so I would go into Patrick's dorm room and lay on the floor and listen to him play guitar. <br />
<br />
I'd excuse myself on occasion to go cry. Each time I felt like my entire heart was being wrenched out with my sobs. I took a nap in the afternoon and a shower and felt a bit better. I managed to pull myself together enough to go to my church's 'Core Group' with everyone. It was difficult to keep from crying half the time, but people were so good and I felt their prayers all throughout the week. It was a fun evening and I was able to smile and laugh through it all thanks to having an awesome chalking group (Libby, Matt and Scott) and an open air jeep with the stereo cranked and Scott sinking down in embarassment in his seat. I was able to put aside the hell I was going through and pretend everything was normal again. I would give almost anything to be able to stay like that, to continue to pretend that nothing had happened, but I wouldn't be able to pretend for long... The nightmare I'd dreamt for years was no longer just in my sleep; it had become my new reality.<br />
<br />
To be continued...<br />
McConnell out.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQowIsC_PutRBARCOGlBVYC8Zbr1br9NF6DF0UsjrkkfvPi-2ZerKfliW_oQzT9e_4_BI2QxXmU52LX62k-BCF5gPQSzEPyOp9JuHFODKEJpOMSn7nXSs56xKNZPp95HPS2FXCElQFCdSk/s1600/277566_10150695123660346_716395345_19132639_3105466_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQowIsC_PutRBARCOGlBVYC8Zbr1br9NF6DF0UsjrkkfvPi-2ZerKfliW_oQzT9e_4_BI2QxXmU52LX62k-BCF5gPQSzEPyOp9JuHFODKEJpOMSn7nXSs56xKNZPp95HPS2FXCElQFCdSk/s320/277566_10150695123660346_716395345_19132639_3105466_o.jpg" width="238" /></a><em>"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."</em></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<em></em></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<em>Romans 8:38-39 </em></div>
<br />
<br />Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-66340855263396262962010-09-10T01:29:00.000-07:002010-09-10T01:43:19.623-07:00A Want To Be NeededSometimes the most hurtful thing for us to realize is that we are not needed. Deep down we all have this part of us that wants to be needed by someone else... that craves to be needed. We care for them so much and have such a need for them in our lives that it hurts so much when we are not a need in theirs. What really tears a person apart is when their own family does not need them. If ones family does not leave them then what is their purpose?<br />
My life circles around my brother. When my dad left I could no longer trust him nor could I look to him to learn what love is and so I turned to my brother. I suppose placing that kind of a burden on him really was not fair, but he was all I had to look up to. As a daughter might look to her dad for every bit of praise, admiration, and care I look to my brother for this. In all that I do I don't do it so my dad will be proud of me, I do it so my brother will. I live and breathe for that next moment when I get to see my brother and I don't think I could ever love anyone as much as I do him. When my brother is home I would encircle my entire world just to spend time with him. If my brother is hurting I would give my own life just to help him. Whenever I'm sad, lonely, hurt, confused about life... my brother is all that I think about. He is the only one I ever want to talk to.<br />
However...<br />
<br />
<i>My brother is a U.S. Marine...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Therefor our relationship is not what it used to be and he only drifts farther and farther away from me. He does not ever let me help him. I can't ever ask him for advice or talk to him when I'm feeling down because he is overseas and what I want to talk to him about really can't be typed out in an email. My brother does not need me... This is so hard to hear and to admit to myself. This also makes it difficult to unload my burdens on him because why add to the burdens he already bears when he will not unload his back on mine. Why cause him more grievance and pain for my own selfish reasons when he won't trust me back with his? It just... hurts. I have this deep-seeded want... no... need to be needed. Yet not even my family needs me. It's thoughts like this that keep me up until 4 in the morning soaked in my own depression. I have this ridiculous desire to help other people because I cannot help those that I truly want to help. I put on a smile and go on with my day and don't burden people with what is on my heart because that is what I have learned... to hold on to the burdens yourself. Why bother others with them?<br />
<br />
This also is a major self image killer... if your own brother does not want to spend time with you... who would?<br />
<br />
All I wanted... was a road trip with my brother...Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-22188810846589595212010-08-27T00:03:00.000-07:002010-08-27T11:44:21.923-07:00Random Thoughts While Working The Desk<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I am once again surprised to find out that people not only read my blog, but enjoy it and they are able to connect with it. It really makes me feel bad when my grammar is wrong, or I make absolutely no sense as I go off into random tangents. It also amazes me just the variety of people that read my blog. I’ve had anywhere from my extended family reading it to people I just met, to people I don’t even know, but end up adding me on facebook for one reason or another, usually because of my faith. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"> That’s another thing that has me staring at my life like a deer in headlights: the ways God brings various people into my life! The vast majority of it has been through facebook and the statuses I post. A lot of my facebook stories have to do with expressing my faith or my awe at how AMAZING God is and people see that! For example, I just recently had someone add me because he saw that I was friends with the Woodbury Marine Corp Recruitment Station and some other people who are joining the Marines. He also saw that I was strong in my faith, so he added me as he is strong in his faith and joining the Marines. He read my blog, especially the one about being a military girlfriend/etc. He said it really helped him see things from that end of things and he was grateful because he has a lady currently and is leaving for the Marines as soon as he gets his post-grad. I’m really glad my writing could help someone. That’s all I ever want to do is to connect with people; whether that be through writing, photography, talking, music, or any other way out there. I live for that moment when someone smiles at me because of something I’ve done. I live and breathe to make people smile.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"> It’s been brought up, on a few different occasions that I should go into ministry with my knack for having people randomly add me or talk to me just because they want to talk to me about faith, but I think that would almost ruin it. I think one of the reasons why I am so approachable about faith is because I am just a regular person and I don’t hold some sort of figure-head in any church. Some people are afraid to talk to those in ministers because they are afraid of being judged. It is another reason, also, why I feel I am called to be a teacher or do overseas missionary work just building and living amongst the people, not necessarily preaching to them. As a teacher students could come up to me. Yes, I know in some public schools this is not allowed, but it is something I definitely want to look into and see where the rules bend at that. I’ve also explored the idea of being a photographer for either TIME magazine or taking pictures of our troops overseas… I would LOVE to share my faith with troops overseas. I think a lot of them lose their faith because they see so much hurt in the world and that just kills me inside. They need faith more than anyone else, I think, BECAUSE they see so much hurt in the world. In a world of hurt, it helps me so much to know that I have a light that is my amazing Lord and Savior. It is a burden lifted to know that my Lord has a plan for everyone in all of the darkness, even if it is not the plan we have. It’s like Shane Claibourne says, “The second I accepted Christ into my life, my life became chaos.” The ways of the world are not the ways of the Lord and we need to learn to live for Him and not for this world. Marissa put it really well during her speech at IV tonight, “we are not students on this campus above everything else, (as most organizations will tell you when they talk about how you need to focus on school instead of the organization) we are on this campus because God called us to this campus.” That just struck me completely because it is SO true. We get so caught up in our school work and the stress of trying to achieve that goal in the future that we miss the little things God calls us to RIGHT NOW. And it is, with that thought, that I leave you my friends. Do not close out the small things God calls you too, for it is sometimes, in those smallest moments, that the seed of faith is able to grow.</span></span><div> <!--EndFragment--> </div></div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-68132739693279033492010-08-14T11:35:00.000-07:002010-08-27T11:36:21.650-07:00It's The Small Things<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It is the little blessings that God puts into our lives that amaze me the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was making a deposit through the drive through window at the bank when I looked over and saw a minivan two isles over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the back of the van was a small girl with blonde hair who looked to be about the age of four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but smiling and waving at the adorable character and she turned away from me and towards her mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I could not see the girl’s face, I could only assume that she told her mother in the front see about the lady in the truck that just waved at them, as the mother looked at me and smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother then proceeded (I thank the Lord for my lip-reading skills on this one) to ask the daughter if she had waved back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before long I had 2 little girls’ faces waving at me (I had not seen her twin sister in the seat next to her) with sparkling eyes complimenting their broad smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mom continued to look back at me and smile even after her children had stopped waving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but to feel a surge of joy come within myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A smile I know I have caused is all it takes to make my day and I had just received three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live for the moment and rejoice in the simple things in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God’s beauty is all around you and nothing can take you away from that!</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the day consisted of a drive up to Birch Shores with me randomly quoting a single line from Family Guy by shouting ‘butt scratcher!’ at random moments throughout the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother would be annoyed by it one minute, and the next minute she’d be laughing hysterically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I frightened the lady at the Walgreens pharmacy by randomly saying that line as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, such is life and I enjoy it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am now at Birch Shores, surrounded by temptations that have brought me away from God’s grace in the past, yet I feel a certain peace about this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a feeling at this year, the enemy’s temptations will have no taunt for me as God is my Lord and Savior and there is nothing that I need in this world besides Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the mean time, I look forward to once again being in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, so close yet so far from school, and waking up to the smells and the sounds of Great Manistique Lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, Lord, for your almighty beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-76346149921002232782010-05-22T10:52:00.000-07:002010-05-22T10:52:51.089-07:00Thunder StormNothing makes my day more than a rainstorm. Today I came home after sleeping at a friends house, hopped in the shower, then just lounged around my house. It wasn't long before I heard the clash of thunder outside and watched the rain quickly come down. So naturally, of course, I put on one of my cute summer dresses, hooked my iphone up to some speakers in the garage, played "slow dancing in the burning room" by John Mayer, and danced barefoot in the mud and pouring rain. It really is the simple pleasures in life that make it worth while.<br />
<br />
Upon returning inside my dog, who had been barking the entire time I was dancing, greeted me as if I'd been gone for months. When I went upstairs, she tweaked at the bottom barking and barking. I just ignored her, but thought it was strange that she was acting so crazy. She then, apparently, became so desperate she attempted to go up 3 steps, realized she was afraid of stairs, then started yiping. I immediately went to get her... poor dog was shivering like mad... Forgot this is the first thunderstorm of the year... oops. The second I picked her up and was near her she was fine. She refuses to be further than a foot away from me and if I go somewhere she cannot, she barks until I get back. <br />
<br />
What really got me thinking, and maybe this is a bit out of the bark, was at one point she was sitting calmly on my stomach and then the thunder roared and she immediately was at attention on the top of the couch barking and then silently observing... I always wondered if that was what it was like for soldiers on the battlefront.. They stand tall and brave and strong as they protect their country and their loved ones, but inside is just a little boy holding a toy gun shivering with fear at the unknown darkness stretching out before him. This thought sends shivers down my spine and suddenly I'm really missing all of my Marines fighting for our freedom. I really hope Ian and David are alright... I don't know what I would do without my 2 best friends... although one is a real brother and one is not, I love them both and it is just difficult to see them afraid. Ian it is a bit easier to picture as that small boy holding a toy gun, because it does not seem all that long ago that he and I were playing 'secret agents' with our little toy nerf guns. Now he is walking up to live bombs and saving lives by defusing them... My big brother is all grown up and so must I be as I sit here and pray; waiting for my Marines to come home.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-88383931270270888072010-05-19T08:03:00.000-07:002010-05-19T08:03:32.681-07:00Summer TimeWell, I somehow survived finals and have now floated into the glorious beauty that is summer. I promise I will get better at writing in my blog, especially now that Ian is deployed. For now it is off to my usual busy Wednesday!<br />
<br />
McConnell OutMargarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-72307230543547014632010-04-12T17:04:00.000-07:002010-05-19T08:08:22.018-07:00Final Photography Project<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFQhd9733Y66VgqTVgGsh-9WkN9xsZe7IYI_Uk16vn2Dg_6FMHraMlvitBB4NILzKERKdIh87eHw-QOCRosEMHs1b3eQu4NeiTmeYCXlmJpULc3__0zAEkpo0Zwqp-wBT5A7BucdTXdgy/s1600/smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFQhd9733Y66VgqTVgGsh-9WkN9xsZe7IYI_Uk16vn2Dg_6FMHraMlvitBB4NILzKERKdIh87eHw-QOCRosEMHs1b3eQu4NeiTmeYCXlmJpULc3__0zAEkpo0Zwqp-wBT5A7BucdTXdgy/s320/smaller.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLV9XcMUqc3WI3a_pNwqzl0OJAvCaWp07wHOhQOFuOmNDp8tReeJnU1x3r_8wlL5FEIJh_uz-Jg_RzGy6Su5c_EW-W4lDI2CJ_rQDhA424KWxya3aW1hMENaJzyTtTvD8XxmudYbpUOEv/s1600/smallerhannah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLV9XcMUqc3WI3a_pNwqzl0OJAvCaWp07wHOhQOFuOmNDp8tReeJnU1x3r_8wlL5FEIJh_uz-Jg_RzGy6Su5c_EW-W4lDI2CJ_rQDhA424KWxya3aW1hMENaJzyTtTvD8XxmudYbpUOEv/s320/smallerhannah.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC8_y9rG_gXjHNRe9VQkTAOx_jaInGgrL99I9D7IiiGMT5quqTMIsTzFfXoz9Khavgt8B9dFpdnZc0s8db5tggzyVJi_R8GVt0Raax6LzeWpaBnpZNdcmTGSMncUlaA-czv3bX-1BMFK4/s1600/smallertable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC8_y9rG_gXjHNRe9VQkTAOx_jaInGgrL99I9D7IiiGMT5quqTMIsTzFfXoz9Khavgt8B9dFpdnZc0s8db5tggzyVJi_R8GVt0Raax6LzeWpaBnpZNdcmTGSMncUlaA-czv3bX-1BMFK4/s320/smallertable.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwtdzpAtaSZkQYZDOnyKYh3pnrncXEiRWNfGDL1j_gJYJEtjZs7jIHlmv76ZETU1uKfYeiPancf_9lNmCACn9iDxOsMVtqpcTygQJufp-wALfgZKzRKnsfDhgOCfSR3UDKK5yiH0XjcOkw/s1600/smallercrockett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwtdzpAtaSZkQYZDOnyKYh3pnrncXEiRWNfGDL1j_gJYJEtjZs7jIHlmv76ZETU1uKfYeiPancf_9lNmCACn9iDxOsMVtqpcTygQJufp-wALfgZKzRKnsfDhgOCfSR3UDKK5yiH0XjcOkw/s320/smallercrockett.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
These images plus one or two more are images I plan to use for my final 'Artist's Statement' photography portfolio for my AD117 class. They are meant to show the effects of deployment on the homefront.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-73426275991650064652009-12-21T00:01:00.000-08:002010-04-05T07:07:00.446-07:00A Brother's HomecomingOde to the days when a mother runs around like a chicken with her head cut off. For many mothers this is a common 'illness' that will bereft them during the holidays, but for a military mother whose son is headed home it is a different matter entirely.<br /><br />You can always tell when my brother is coming home because the house is suddenly impeccably clean, his room is put together with new sheets placed on the bed, and I am being yelled at to clean up my 'crap' in the bathroom... Our Marine is coming home and he has not been home for a year.<br /><br />It's interesting, the anticipation, as you await for that phone call from your Marine to come in at any minute declaring that his plane has landed. At first I was thinking I would remain at home and wait for him to walk through the door, but when my mom's phone rang I knew I had to go to that airport; there would be no holding myself back.<br /><br />I was in charge of driving to the airport. I was a little excited, but I was generally keeping my cool; that is until Ian came into view. My brother, my Marine, my best friend was standing there just a short drive away within view. My heart started racing as I pulled up next to him, threw the car into park, swiftly opened the door and jumped (literally) into my brothers arms. (I was determined to beat my mother to him and I did so by a mile.) My brother was in my arms again.<br /><br />I still cannot get over it. You get used to saying goodbye after a while, but you can never get used to saying hello. The emotional relief that washes over you the second he is back in your arms is unbelievable. You were so busy going about your day-to-day life and so used to doing so with this emotional stress that you were able to back stock it in your emotional venue. However, the second they are back in your arms safe and sound, the release of all that tension is amazing and you suddenly are made aware of just how heavy the emotional burden you were bearing is.<br /><br />Sitting down and talking to my brother the first night he is back is always fun. However, this time he was explaining about how his team for his deployment to Afghanistan is the most stacked team and therefor they will be the team sent in to perform more solitary missions deep in the heart of the enemy. The dangers my brother will face send shivers down my spine. I have no idea how I will survive this deployment, but that is months away and for now my Marine is home.<br /><br />Music filled the house through guitar and piano once again. The sound of a song once created by an innocent high school band lover now flowed through the fingers of a strong well trained machine. There is no better way to describe a Marine than to describe them as a machine. However, they are Machines with hearts. When they come home they love their families and it is as if all of the metal is melted away to reveal the human underneath. When in battle, however, they are at full armor their heart encased within.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He's home...</span> I still cannot register it. Yet the smile on my face combined with the tears in my eyes tell me that this is the truth and my Marine truly is home safe and sound with his family. It is a Merry Christmas, Praise the Lord for my Marine is home.<br /><br />Until Next Time!<br />McConnell Out<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkKBKcIdlmVKGcnN1CyZm-w930YfHAoU7pz5gkJUUMk8XtozKz8_xKiv9hYwO9HF1ijoHFAy6AJ6xZZEUqBAQEFBXjZ7xNMd2mSqj4rF8RjZjUfzbBO9wSBb7PdT9cbIppu97aTgxlgqR/s1600-h/Picture+109.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkKBKcIdlmVKGcnN1CyZm-w930YfHAoU7pz5gkJUUMk8XtozKz8_xKiv9hYwO9HF1ijoHFAy6AJ6xZZEUqBAQEFBXjZ7xNMd2mSqj4rF8RjZjUfzbBO9wSBb7PdT9cbIppu97aTgxlgqR/s200/Picture+109.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417602930579313170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"This is my covenant with them," says the Lord. "My Spirit will not leave them, and neither will these words I have given you. They will be on your lips and on the lips of your children and your children's children forever -- Isaiah 59:21</span>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-41675030333950781832009-12-13T20:31:00.001-08:002010-02-24T15:42:48.625-08:00Flying Solo<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> <w:word11kerningpairs/> <w:cachedcolbalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef/> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defunhidewhenused="true" defsemihidden="true" defqformat="false" defpriority="99" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="0" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Normal"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="heading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="35" qformat="true" name="caption"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="10" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" name="Default Paragraph Font"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="11" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtitle"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="22" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Strong"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="20" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="59" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Table Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Placeholder Text"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="No Spacing"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Revision"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="34" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="List Paragraph"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="29" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="30" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Airports</i>… the hustle and bustle of people rushing to get to their gate on time; the nervous cluelessness of people as they go through security; the curiosity of children’s faces as their eyes take in everything that is the terminal; I love every bit about the airports and there is no place where I feel more at home.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Growing up with a dad working for Northwest Airlines, we traveled a lot.<span style=""> </span>Holidays were often spent with relatives elsewhere and once a year my dad would take me and my brother on separate trips to whatever location within the United States that we wished to travel.<span style=""> </span>I was always fascinated by the terminal with my wide-eyed curiosity at everything that so much as looked like a plane, but my love for the terminal did not come until the more recent years when I began to travel on my own.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When most people walk into a terminal they are stressed and worried as they frantically try to remember what can and cannot go in a carry on and what they have to remove be</p><p class="MsoNormal">fore going through security.<span style=""> </span>I, however, enter the terminal with a sense of excitement running through my every fiber.<span style=""> </span>I hop into line and look around at all the different people that surround me.<span style=""> </span>My mind engulfs all that it can in the few precious moments as I stand there.<span style=""> </span>Everything from military personnel to a small child running circles around their parents is in my view.<span style=""> </span>The airport is the ultimate view of the middleclass American melting pot.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I step up confidently to security to have my i.d. viewed and my boarding pass checked and marked off before making my way to the bins.<span style=""> </span>It is fun to see unprepared people attempt to juggle all of their belongings as they dump change from their pockets and throw off their jackets and untie their shoes.<span style=""> </span>In the mean time, my laptop is in my arms waiting to be placed in a bin.<span style=""> </span>My shoes are already off, I have no metal on my person, and my jacket sits waiting with my shoes.<span style=""> </span>They go through so much craziness and still have to have their bag checked because they forget to take their laptop out, or they have to be wand searched because they forgot the keys in their back pocket.<span style=""> </span>As they or their luggage gets searched, I already have my shoes on, my laptop packed, my belongings secured, and am ready to start the rest of the adventure.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As much as I love the confidence booster of</p><p class="MsoNormal"> being the only person knowing what they are doing on a flight, what I love even more is the waiting area and the flight itself.<span style=""> </span>I <i style="">love</i> people watching and the airport waiting area is the perfect place to do so.<span style=""> </span>People go bustling by of all sorts of shapes and sizes carrying luggage of the same diversity.<span style=""> </span>I always like to imagine stories to go with some of these people as to where they are going and where they are from.<span style=""> </span>Anytime I get the chance to actually meet the majority of these people I am usually completely off, but it’s still a fun game to play.<span style=""> </span>I wonder how people see me…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">One woman just walked by, cute, redhead, about mid20’s, carrying a child who seems to be about a year old.<span style=""> </span>Behind her is what seems to be either her sister or friend, a brunette about the same age, carrying the baby’s carrier and looking </p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lY233EGbfaRNzlz6bXtGkWNQiu2erT_UBwLOywHWbp6A6O-SefNhmltrTZyJy80FEeLIKG9gsHkDgKFmyRz9atanxBTXYDchLzzdYvj7CBFohwGiQ7tpRq1Ejs9i9_rbMAXYJKYPvPHr/s200/IMG_0569.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441959447466437746" /><p class="MsoNormal">rather unhappy.<span style=""> </span>I can only imagine she must not be too excited about her situation, I too would rather be </p><p class="MsoNormal">carrying the child in comparison to the child’s carrier.<span style=""> </span>The child is a redhead with the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen and, oh, what a smile this child has.<span style=""> </span>She could most certainly steal the hearts of many.<span style=""> </span>Oh she is crawling around and just being an adorable, explorative child.<span style=""> </span>I think I have made a new friend.<span style=""> </span>Nothing brightens up people waiting in an airport more than an adorable, smiling, explorative child.<span style=""> </span>(Although, on the flip side, nothing puts them in a more sour mood than a crying infant on a plane.)<span style=""> </span>My best wishes to my new friend as she explores the exciting world of airport and airplanes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The big looming question still sits in my mind as I scan the gate.<span style=""> </span><i style="">Who will I sit next by?<span style=""> </span></i>As a single passenger it is usually inevitable that I will sit by some a random person. (Child just sneezed into her blanket and looked up at her mother with a huge smile as if to say <i style="">silly me, mommy, look at what I did</i>.)<span style=""> </span>It is always my favorite part of life itself to get to know that person.<span style=""> </span>I have made lasting friends simply by sitting next to them on a plane. <span style=""> </span>My first airport friend was named Cal.<span style=""> </span>I was sitting in the airport in Detroit waiting for my connecting flight to go to Florida for my brother’s EOD graduation.<span style=""> </span>I was missing a Packers game (I was a packers fan at the time because my boyfriend at the time was.<span style=""> </span>Now, I have a mind of my own and am an ever faithful Vikings fan) He was watching the Packers game on the phone and I asked him how it was going.<span style=""> </span>Conversation continued on from there and we ended up exchanging numbers and keeping in touch.<span style=""> </span>We both travel a lot and I end up in the Detroit airport a lot (where he is from)and he ends up in the Minneapolis airport a lot, so we now both have another place to stay if we ever get stuck in a layover.<span style=""> </span>We’ve had lunch a few times when he has been in the cities over the summer it is just good to know that I have a new friend from a random encounter.<span style=""> </span>Another one that stuck with me was a guy named Jake.<span style=""> </span>Oh Jake… how that guy made me laugh.<span style=""> </span>I sat down next to Jake and, I don’t remember why, but soon after the plane was in the air he was making fun of me.<span style=""> </span>We talked about everything.<span style=""> </span>He did some work for some water company and had just finished a project in Marquette.<span style=""> </span>I do not remember where I was flying to for this flight, but I was going to Detroit for a layover first.<span style=""> </span>We walked to our next gate and waited for my plane to board together.<span style=""> </span>I remember at one point he asked if this was going to be like in those chick flicks where the guy meets the girl and never sees her again and forgets to ask for her number.<span style=""> </span>We exchanged numbers and stayed rather good friends after that, but we have sort of lost touch since.<span style=""> </span>On my way to Haiti while flying to Miami I sat next to this one guy who was working towards being a Catholic priest.<span style=""> </span>He was an interesting fellow to talk to.<span style=""> </span>He was telling me to serve God and to go out in the world, but never really gave me a chance to tell him the irony of the fact that I was on my way to spend a week in Haiti.<span style=""> </span>I wonder who I will meet on this flight.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am sitting in seat 1A for this flight, first class, oh boy.<span style=""> </span>First class usually is lofty people who do not like to talk.<span style=""> </span>I rarely end up making long terms friends with a person in first class, but, who knows, maybe I’ll be surprised this time!</p> Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-46613782627607967562009-12-03T08:47:00.001-08:002010-04-05T07:18:57.898-07:00Heart For A SoldierA little over a year ago I was in a relationship with a Marine. I used to think that being a military personnel's significant other was hard. Now that I am at both ends of the spectrum at once, being both in the military through ROTC (if one can count ROTC as military) and in a relationship with a soldier, I have found that I was right. When you are in the military you spend all day busy doing military things. Granted, there are many times when Command likes to play 'hurry up and wait,' but you are still busy with your military buddies. You may long for home you may be tired, sore, achy, and afraid, but you have your family at home.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTbVAVKkHYGJtc4Ugqj7ivADm6ebTkGEFhTw_rqAXlZJoOPkWw9UBEWmylmiLDCkFz-oO3N_tFEEH97io4QaodjX-294vSYjC_42nZAeXnxkkZ1bi_qtD4-f9WrMkkmE-VXYOIL-yRTA9/s1600-h/l_e561f01a32a0ec4f49e42af6aefee9cd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTbVAVKkHYGJtc4Ugqj7ivADm6ebTkGEFhTw_rqAXlZJoOPkWw9UBEWmylmiLDCkFz-oO3N_tFEEH97io4QaodjX-294vSYjC_42nZAeXnxkkZ1bi_qtD4-f9WrMkkmE-VXYOIL-yRTA9/s320/l_e561f01a32a0ec4f49e42af6aefee9cd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412228765174476434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />However, the whole perspective changes when you switch sides to those waiting at home. Those at home somehow have to deal with the stress of a job outside of the military, take care of the family, take care of themselves, and somehow still function while missing and worrying about their loved one constantly. You learn not to get hyped up for any upcoming promises or plans because, chances are, the military will end up taking them away from you and filling them in with some new mission.<br /><br />Every day that my brother or Carl was overseas I spent in the lounge at work pouring over the newspaper, praying I would find some good news about their unit while, at the same<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTyxnsNbvX_NcfE0f5CbMoF576f6ZBcEsKrOSKaDS7Iv3vyxiYLGgTG4AAIvApuV9NgfFbh0dL4AeJjnP8sKaj7w0ncoCG2QHXqvfRzcJ0jXnCA3ct_5idq9SBhsvdssAeUYOcUjmeuOe/s1600-h/IMG_5518.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTyxnsNbvX_NcfE0f5CbMoF576f6ZBcEsKrOSKaDS7Iv3vyxiYLGgTG4AAIvApuV9NgfFbh0dL4AeJjnP8sKaj7w0ncoCG2QHXqvfRzcJ0jXnCA3ct_5idq9SBhsvdssAeUYOcUjmeuOe/s200/IMG_5518.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412224470180139938" border="0" /></a> time, praying I would not hear of any horrors occurring in their area. We would sing a song in choir that so much as related to military in the least bit and I'd have to leave during class to hide the fact that I was about to cry. A song would come on the country radio station while I was driving home in the car and suddenly I would be crying so hard that I couldn't breathe. It's an emotional toll that military families have to pay over and over again.<div><br />Letters. Letters are my sanity like none other. I think the vast majority of what little writing skills I have come from how many letters I have written over the years of my indirect involvement with the military. While he was in basic, my brothers letters were all that kept me going. This was partially due to the fact that they kept me busy while I tried to decipher his impossible handwriting for hours.<br /><br />I seem to have lost my train of thought so I am going to start again with a new mindset, sorry for the random jumping around this is just a topic that takes me over more than I notice. There are times when I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Q7stlqJuK_DC_gwFoGtl5q98XBhGP3l_wbP9r07Ap3yYiVUtfpSxeSYEEG_PzlCj-QFJJcSX50qSvHXNFQD0NODPYnJ1He0xaVQ15DOB5mHeNRaMvoV5cOflhUQQPPe5D4_9AH6RZTNt/s1600-h/n1276530039_30061728_1244.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Q7stlqJuK_DC_gwFoGtl5q98XBhGP3l_wbP9r07Ap3yYiVUtfpSxeSYEEG_PzlCj-QFJJcSX50qSvHXNFQD0NODPYnJ1He0xaVQ15DOB5mHeNRaMvoV5cOflhUQQPPe5D4_9AH6RZTNt/s200/n1276530039_30061728_1244.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412224000396378610" border="0" /></a> can't even go to a movie, for example <span style="font-weight: bold;">Brothers</span> and not cry simply because the Marine in the movie is a POW in Afghanistan and my brother is going to Afghanistan in a month.<br /><br />There is a certain sense of pride that comes with military as well. Not just by being in the military, but by being connected to it somehow. I see a soldier in the airport and I cannot help but go over to him or her and shake their hand, thanking them, and having a fun casual conversation with them about what they do and my brother and my involvement with the services. It's a sense of family, of sacrifice, of love...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fIg8PUhFE7EqKRwLJb3JXxOBdqkuDyRchvJROhXy6gyJS1DHQEaQ_wpyEV0h5ZoCsWIKV5g9307fbsifwgZ_glIZ5QYe_Ap7b4nNx9tcYWzA6HGsiEkCJ8OgomOO3AIlTf9OJ_FJdbnE/s1600-h/2634_1052411951991_1276530039_30156800_7147168_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fIg8PUhFE7EqKRwLJb3JXxOBdqkuDyRchvJROhXy6gyJS1DHQEaQ_wpyEV0h5ZoCsWIKV5g9307fbsifwgZ_glIZ5QYe_Ap7b4nNx9tcYWzA6HGsiEkCJ8OgomOO3AIlTf9OJ_FJdbnE/s200/2634_1052411951991_1276530039_30156800_7147168_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412224729309751186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The emotional stress that our service men and women feel upon returning home ends up being reflected onto their family members as well. After a return home, most soldiers end up distant from their family. They do not seem to care as much as they used to mostly because they have learned that they do not need to tap dance as much as they had been; life is too short to tap dance for people who won't love you unless you do. Civilians do not like it when people stop tap dancing for them. We like it when people will do anything to make us happy and when our soldiers come home exhausted from a deployment, having seen horrors we cannot even begin to imagine, and don't tap dance for us anymore we take it to heart. We only see how stressed <span style="font-style: italic;">we</span> have been while they were gone and how it effected <span style="font-style: italic;">us. </span>We cannot see past <span style="font-style: italic;">our own</span> pain and <span style="font-style: italic;">our own</span> hurt. This might contradict my earlier point about how it is more difficult to be the one at home, but I still stand by that point. A soldier has lived both as a civilian and a soldier. Most civilians have only experienced civilian life. Soldiers come home and their families cannot understand what they have gone through. They are being pushed away by their soldiers and unable to understand why. It is so difficult to have someone you have been waiting for and praying for for the past year just push you away and treat you like dirt and you don't understand why. It causes stress in homes and it causes stress in people. It hurts.<br /><br />The worst part, to me, about being a military family member waiting at home is not the lack of communication, nor the stress, nor the tears; its the nightmares. I used to have nightmare upon nightmare and some days I would even be in class and just daydream (er...daymare) and there was nothing I could do about it. "How could something that is not reality effect you so much," you might wonder, but it is the idea that this is a nightmare that can actually happen that frightens families the most. I'll tell you my nightmare.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Imagine</span>: you are are sitting at home working or writing a letter to your soldier overseas. It is a rather normal day and you find yourself glancing at their picture multiple times as you work hoping and praying that they are safe. There is a knock at your door. You get out of your chair and walk to the front door. Peering through the window, you are able to see two soldiers. Already, the truth has sunk in. The door opens with your hand though you do not register that you are opening it as you blankly stare at the soldiers. You<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Gh6SdF4sysLC9setz7wQ7Y4VfGHfA-1-t1vlYGEB2MVQyRu2ACAyvY1Cqhl1OCi1noVGYpv1Vf-c_Ltjv73b0yLtjni8CtkA3tLP8qknLQR8rWcCng2QC_faLZXHGsL-DQmUm3LIwtoO/s1600-h/3986788126_860ec683d0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Gh6SdF4sysLC9setz7wQ7Y4VfGHfA-1-t1vlYGEB2MVQyRu2ACAyvY1Cqhl1OCi1noVGYpv1Vf-c_Ltjv73b0yLtjni8CtkA3tLP8qknLQR8rWcCng2QC_faLZXHGsL-DQmUm3LIwtoO/s320/3986788126_860ec683d0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412228929865881938" border="0" /></a> invite them in and you hear them tell you the news, but the details do not hit you right away. The soldiers give their condolences and walk out the door. You shut the door behind them then feel the lack of air fill your lungs as you crash to the floor in tears curled up in a ball as pain overcomes your entire body and nausea arises in your stomach. The words of the visiting soldiers play over and over in your head as you cry with your whole heart and soul to God. <span style="font-style: italic;">Killed in Combat</span>.<br /><br />If you have ever been to a military funeral they are something you don't easily forget. The 21-gun salute, the draped flag over the coffin, the presentation of the flag to the family. The soldiers standing proud and true next to their fellow soldier, guarding and protecting each other even in death. Military funerals are a dark beauty to behold, though not something I would ever wish on anyone.<br /><br />There is nothing, however, like the military family. Only in the military family can you meet a complete stranger and within 5 hours you are already planning a way for them to pick you up from the airport and stay in a hotel with you for a few night so you can go to your loved one's homecoming or graduation and so you both can afford a place to stay. The military family is the most protective group I have ever met. If there's one thing that has effected me through my years of being in this family, it's the strength of these friendships. All the soldiers overseas are constantly in my thoughts and prayers. The breaking of my pseudo brother's or sister's heart from the loss of a loved one is like a shattering of my own heart. My heart goes out to all of those waiting at home and all of those whose heart is over seas. God bless our troops and their families at home.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until Next Time!<br />McConnell Out<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1FNYioz0K8IXcsArkcgVxgJbrnWyLfQ0LXW375cmOg_2ppOxzmyigkm7RyKe04zSGl0shZksDC2W7rRmmo09TIvquDMXXidDw1g3yzPNqT2AQJpy-UXnC8vmUU3sK0ymVyJhhL02B6dQ/s1600-h/cool7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1FNYioz0K8IXcsArkcgVxgJbrnWyLfQ0LXW375cmOg_2ppOxzmyigkm7RyKe04zSGl0shZksDC2W7rRmmo09TIvquDMXXidDw1g3yzPNqT2AQJpy-UXnC8vmUU3sK0ymVyJhhL02B6dQ/s200/cool7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412010596756797330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"He has not ignored or belittled the suffering of the needy. He has not turned his back on them, but has listend to their cries for help." Psalm 22:24</span></div>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-3766833724661961672009-11-28T19:15:00.001-08:002009-11-30T08:24:18.028-08:00Shabbat Shalom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSK8HYhAAdJV_ze99sE7zs8Ve-AlPCVzm3tgkWT6hch7upEc84RZ44WCUD0FvRZ4SfItx1U7CbdZgpvOmtEs5Cagl7s8s2zJsRMXecX25JFfr21fYdOKiZ0rthaE6WJweLFqijCi-no87N/s1600/mombible3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSK8HYhAAdJV_ze99sE7zs8Ve-AlPCVzm3tgkWT6hch7upEc84RZ44WCUD0FvRZ4SfItx1U7CbdZgpvOmtEs5Cagl7s8s2zJsRMXecX25JFfr21fYdOKiZ0rthaE6WJweLFqijCi-no87N/s200/mombible3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409932060689562578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My mom and mark requested that I go with to their Messianic church this morning. Originally, I was not very keen on the idea, but as I came to see the idea more as a cultural immersion, rather than a forced exposure, I became more enthusiastic about attending.<br /><br />I walked into the church and was overwhelmed by the amount of Hebrew written all over. Messianic people are <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqbpWpA3DcTpM6NSuNrynN276KwpvnKrGrYzVThylMXByx2pd7piX1phLZ0vD2EWHrCxj1mLdCKGQ-TZO9bcG3h2t9_D73JNG8lsNj1nyOym_BUjw8KpaD12OyDDUQ6XbWVb4M1rMqs8-/s1600/IMG_5584.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqbpWpA3DcTpM6NSuNrynN276KwpvnKrGrYzVThylMXByx2pd7piX1phLZ0vD2EWHrCxj1mLdCKGQ-TZO9bcG3h2t9_D73JNG8lsNj1nyOym_BUjw8KpaD12OyDDUQ6XbWVb4M1rMqs8-/s200/IMG_5584.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409930447009956210" border="0" /></a>Torah Aware Christians. They celebrate much like the Reform Jewish faith does. I felt as if I was back in fourth grade as a little village girl in Fiddler on the Roof. They had a group of dancers that would dance traditional Jewish praise dances and then they would follow the Torah around the room 3 on each side. It was as if it was straight out of the bible.<br /><br /><br /><br />They then opened up the Torah and said a prayer as well all reached our hands out to the Torah. My mom said that the prayer we prayed was to give us the Torah/take the Torah and carry it to the world. Someone then pics up the huge Tabernacle and the Torah and carries it around the room so people can touch it while everyone sings in Hebrew again.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcY_5ok0YFUQvTqjaWnfpm7IrccpFfvX1zeYVrWZyMwpta9WFb0DF8H50I_bOrTJ6DHzWLzI_necWip9tZ21qUtIGuwfGz3LEpu2H1VkUGsRk8DPijxL5doTueXeoW9-rOMIMTYhWAQTZ/s1600/mombible2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcY_5ok0YFUQvTqjaWnfpm7IrccpFfvX1zeYVrWZyMwpta9WFb0DF8H50I_bOrTJ6DHzWLzI_necWip9tZ21qUtIGuwfGz3LEpu2H1VkUGsRk8DPijxL5doTueXeoW9-rOMIMTYhWAQTZ/s200/mombible2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409932318188715698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />They then got into the sermon which had some interesting points to me. One of which was the idea that the enemy is the current ruler of the world, which, as you think about it and think about the greed of even the Church itself this statements seems to be held true, but there are still Christians everywhere who still help to carry out the light of Christ (or Yeshua as the Messanic people call Him) One of my favorite <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOTxYuYvvIpK45Tl9btGVZ0ZqhsOkaPxbGdMF8e7-JrVyn3XDsad4FMeR3a9B6h0jAr9N5_rvqf8eK8nagNpt33gAsRnP7GG7icLiJ621f0nUXuc7LZKgKi10igLuLBs86rQGshyRLrA2/s1600/mombibile.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOTxYuYvvIpK45Tl9btGVZ0ZqhsOkaPxbGdMF8e7-JrVyn3XDsad4FMeR3a9B6h0jAr9N5_rvqf8eK8nagNpt33gAsRnP7GG7icLiJ621f0nUXuc7LZKgKi10igLuLBs86rQGshyRLrA2/s200/mombibile.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409932750647971106" border="0" /></a>points brought up in the sermon was one that I am a firm believer in. They brought up the idea that the Torah is not our guideline, Jesus/Yeshua is. We should follow Christ. The Torah/Bible is only there to keep us from crossing the boundry into the enemy's territory.<br /><br />If there was one thing I really took out of this Shabbat Shalom, it was that music really is a universal language. I do not understand Hebrew and most of the songs were in Hebrew, but I did understand the feel of the music. The notes carried me right up to God until I found myself closing my eyes and just humming along while tapping my hands on the pew in front of me.<br /><br />God works in many marvelous and amazing ways. I cannot see what adventures he has planned for me as I drive home tomorrow. My camera is packed away so I will have to upload pictures later.<br /><br />Until next time!<br />McConnell out<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUUqoH_jGCbxWVVb-o1SPlbFMGJ-5KL012iPg_-dFaExWlfllHptTlODUUEIblLqbVoyw5mSzrOIBygNRrBgakfJiIXfLqwdMTogtbwGS_8u8C-5g2pYPHcrlHB9oEecshe3Do_gQUTlk/s1600/12137_1165466378281_1276530039_30441653_4597794_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUUqoH_jGCbxWVVb-o1SPlbFMGJ-5KL012iPg_-dFaExWlfllHptTlODUUEIblLqbVoyw5mSzrOIBygNRrBgakfJiIXfLqwdMTogtbwGS_8u8C-5g2pYPHcrlHB9oEecshe3Do_gQUTlk/s200/12137_1165466378281_1276530039_30441653_4597794_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409932974167902962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">We are many parts of one body, and we all belong to each other. In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. --Romans 12:5-6</span>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-91854304008969117732009-11-27T23:19:00.000-08:002009-11-28T01:33:52.125-08:00Old, But New<span style="font-size:85%;">My day started rather late again today. Although I woke up around 0500 to go for a run, I then returned to my nice warm bed and slept until 1100. I took a shower when I woke up then did my favorite </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >lets wander around the house in a bathrobe</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> routine as I was entirely too lazy to get dressed. (I'm a college student on break, leave me alone!)<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Eventually Clare finally got a hold of me and we decided to st</span><span style="font-size:85%;">art an epic adventure. (It always is an adventure when Clare and I hang out) About a block away from my house we had to pull over and ta</span><span style="font-size:85%;">ke a picture with the world's most pointless sign placement ever; located in the middle of Steepleview Rd in Woodbury, MN.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMvLVyBgGbjrodTKIFvlCbTE9snox6-lLvmVEipaAxz8mFEFsxZgb0rVxwk2aFQF95kitw81hBeihD9s4PeAXmk1pebW_mR0alxQ_FMAcers9fYzpyfzvejubcFPm6EKaX8Y_LWW4Snlk/s1600/IMG_5520.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMvLVyBgGbjrodTKIFvlCbTE9snox6-lLvmVEipaAxz8mFEFsxZgb0rVxwk2aFQF95kitw81hBeihD9s4PeAXmk1pebW_mR0alxQ_FMAcers9fYzpyfzvejubcFPm6EKaX8Y_LWW4Snlk/s320/IMG_5520.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409069060997737778" border="0" /></a>Oh how I love Woodbury... Anyways, So Clare and I first made a random run to Cub foods where we ran into my Aunt Cammie who invited me to the family's annual Nouveau Beaujoulais party (i'm excited) and we bothered Mitch at work for a bit. I was labeled as 'specia,l' we clipped some of the carts together, then started making plans for after he got off work at 22:00. The debate was first between movies that were showing, but nothing good was showing late enough, and Mitch really wanted to go to Applebees... it was all just a confusing not planned plan; it didn't help that we couldn't get a hold of any of the other guys to help plan. Clare and I decided to run errands until we could get a hold of everyone else.<br /><br />Errands ended up being us making a random run to the dollar tree, buying junkfood, a horsehead on a stick (Connie would be proud) and epic glowstick swords. We couldn't resist testing out our new purchases. We drove to the playground by my house and tested out the versatility of our new glowing toys. Let me tell you, as much fun as they were, they did not last long. We made sure to get some fun pictures! We tried to take one timed picture on these moving... suspended... block things (yeah I do not have a clue how to describe them...) and I was sprinting to get on one of them before the camera took the picture, while Clare was struggling to stay on top....well she failed at that and fell right on her ass. It was, to say the least, hilarious.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_zzkaJsSItsB5O1ReazEh0GXWvpvCUYEMp8dB5Vr-QIfG2hazMhyphenhyphenvSr8G-_hLC27kFzPf6yjreT7AL1_TLZrqIqZHZfYO9KMpx9GdjhDjRkcnS6T7hX26uY2PuYB1ylmEHEMCo1dKvF3/s1600/IMG_5529.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_zzkaJsSItsB5O1ReazEh0GXWvpvCUYEMp8dB5Vr-QIfG2hazMhyphenhyphenvSr8G-_hLC27kFzPf6yjreT7AL1_TLZrqIqZHZfYO9KMpx9GdjhDjRkcnS6T7hX26uY2PuYB1ylmEHEMCo1dKvF3/s200/IMG_5529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409079058977561266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqb3WKw4pQxK74g29ORIpZ1Yxsl4VK3zzRBPyR0IJuRFcfWHZCLlzYi3gYhfZVyO3wSYHccq56KbMP8W2Z8AbApHoWEyJ9Xx_aDUq_hsUTkZIMRS3eADM6WGJfr7dbFcDp1wTuzGecDVMP/s1600/IMG_5532.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqb3WKw4pQxK74g29ORIpZ1Yxsl4VK3zzRBPyR0IJuRFcfWHZCLlzYi3gYhfZVyO3wSYHccq56KbMP8W2Z8AbApHoWEyJ9Xx_aDUq_hsUTkZIMRS3eADM6WGJfr7dbFcDp1wTuzGecDVMP/s200/IMG_5532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409079524199199346" border="0" /></a>Anyways, we drove around for a bit doing this and that from one end of Minnesota to the other then met the guy sat Tim's house. It was like a reunion. Practically my whole group of guys from high school hanging out in one place at the same time. We went to applebees and squeezed 10 people in a single corner booth. The amount of water cups at the end of the night practically took over the entire table.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnsVXPMQmkjgWRjnV8cRCfTjLfwk8zktTlZA05PaTtXS9POHcVbwUI-zbkN04IwXmhnrC_rCD748CODs-W2qQNv6q4QW2itmFfCwnXvwkWm6J2xHEzAB4vO0S7TBIHCBX72IjhvIrPezr/s1600/IMG_5564.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnsVXPMQmkjgWRjnV8cRCfTjLfwk8zktTlZA05PaTtXS9POHcVbwUI-zbkN04IwXmhnrC_rCD748CODs-W2qQNv6q4QW2itmFfCwnXvwkWm6J2xHEzAB4vO0S7TBIHCBX72IjhvIrPezr/s320/IMG_5564.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409078279686491746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NWraFE7X-M2af4Y8v5O9YwxMxXk7-_X8EPceZPctpDQioVbpBiPUgNhAJE6FGYtrPxZhsNjbMyfak5gTJtr3DifrCRiMejWo-u0srhWYNnIr1PEbLZwPt1NE5LJQeH6BMug-YpzYnfKw/s1600/IMG_5569.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NWraFE7X-M2af4Y8v5O9YwxMxXk7-_X8EPceZPctpDQioVbpBiPUgNhAJE6FGYtrPxZhsNjbMyfak5gTJtr3DifrCRiMejWo-u0srhWYNnIr1PEbLZwPt1NE5LJQeH6BMug-YpzYnfKw/s320/IMG_5569.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409078519247393474" border="0" /></a>The night continued with us deciding to do our favorite activity: go to Blockbuster video and find the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >worst</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> looking movies possible. It was a close call between </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >YoYo Girl Cop</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Megashark vs. Giant Octopus</span><span style="font-size:85%;">. In the end the latter won. Think of the worst movie you have ever seen in your entire life; add in the worst special effects ever (apparently done by 'tiny juggernaut'), a dash of extremly predictable moments, and top it off with a pinch of an utter fail at a plot line and you have </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Megashark vs. Giant Octopus.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> The best part of the entire movie was when the shark jumped out of the water and ate a the plane.<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBizgLZX7W0"><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jBizgLZX7W0</a><br /><br />Overall, another wonderfully successful day!<br />Until next time,<br />McConnell out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lqcxEjR6X7AMXabCLmYKQs2HhSB3iyP7jtK2ZaovD5asoR8MkApoO_NglZy4uxrPa5EkMKVzu9Whv45o3545fVYC6zpozRys-D1HzDLdOzLxAKLy4lq2NlyAuGm4_x7IDmQkW3idNguj/s1600/IMG_5552.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lqcxEjR6X7AMXabCLmYKQs2HhSB3iyP7jtK2ZaovD5asoR8MkApoO_NglZy4uxrPa5EkMKVzu9Whv45o3545fVYC6zpozRys-D1HzDLdOzLxAKLy4lq2NlyAuGm4_x7IDmQkW3idNguj/s200/IMG_5552.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409083282540786866" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >"We can rejoice in our wonderful new relationship with God because our Lord Jesus Christ has made us friends of God"<br />Romans 5:100<br /></span>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-2215393104845109012009-11-26T14:06:00.000-08:002009-11-26T15:12:20.075-08:00Discovering a Dream<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link style="font-family: times new roman;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link style="font-family: times new roman;" rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> <w:word11kerningpairs/> <w:cachedcolbalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef/> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defunhidewhenused="true" defsemihidden="true" defqformat="false" defpriority="99" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="0" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Normal"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="heading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="35" qformat="true" name="caption"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="10" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" name="Default Paragraph Font"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="11" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtitle"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="22" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Strong"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="20" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="59" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Table Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Placeholder Text"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="No Spacing"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Revision"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="34" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="List Paragraph"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="29" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="30" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >It amazes me just how often the average college student switches majors. In high school, I used to stand by and watch as all of my friends seemed unable to to stand fast on any of their decisions. They would bounce around all sorts of majors, switch from one college to another, change friend groups, and never seem able to simply settle on one big picture. I would laugh at these indecisive friends of mine and never imagine such a difficulty ever happening to me. I was a French and Music major at Northern Michigan University until the end! I would never change!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a style="font-family: times new roman;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkziqF5fYLjJkwOOKalLOqyfgB4WSHA9CvCslAxG0hifetmp3WgTMZjz8QbqLYy-NeYQYKI73Mtv5SBpqOccuSrNv-uFMnf6YPYg42ufLBs8nl_C8uOgv8naXJUzIAodBHlE47zUmo-kcc/s1600/IMG_3556.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkziqF5fYLjJkwOOKalLOqyfgB4WSHA9CvCslAxG0hifetmp3WgTMZjz8QbqLYy-NeYQYKI73Mtv5SBpqOccuSrNv-uFMnf6YPYg42ufLBs8nl_C8uOgv8naXJUzIAodBHlE47zUmo-kcc/s320/IMG_3556.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408545777339562546" border="0" /></a>
<br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br />Well, one semester of school and one trip to Haiti later and I am a biology-physiology premedical major with a minor in French. Two semesters of pursuing this decision later and I discover that this really is not exactly what I want. I hate science. I want to be a doctor and help Haiti, but I don't want to get my bachelors in this!
<br />
<br />I now faced a problem, what the heck did I want to do with my life? I wanted to see the world; of this much I was certain, but how to go about this? I was sick of the average college life; sick of school and the drudgery of studying. I talked with my dad at some length about what I wanted out of life and discovered I am so similar to him that it is almost frightening. I spent days stressing over how to get what I wanted out of life with whatever I got my bachelors degree in. Were there a degree in 'world traveler' I would go for that in a heartbeat, but sadly there is no such thing. I also could not just pack up my bags and go on a random trip, as that requires money that I did not have. (Even with a dad working for Delta airlines, traveling is expensive; the plane rides themselves just are not)
<br />
<br />I went out to eat with a good friend of mine from high school named Brent who had just returned from a year and a half deployment to Korea with the Air Force. We were talking about the future and how I was thinking about transferring back home to the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities ("I would <i>never</i> leave Northern Michigan University," guess we all have figured out by now that I'm just like everyone else!) and joining the Marine Corps ROTC program offered there. We talked at length about my past year in the Army ROTC and how I loved military life and then we went on to talk about what I would do if I were to enlist in the Marine Corps. I had been doing research on different MOS and had found that Combat Camera seemed to interest me quite a bit. Brent asked what that was and I told him it was rather similar to <i>photojournalism</i>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Photojournalism</i>. That word rang in my head over and over again as if an echo trying to find its way through the maze of my hemispheres to a specific lobe of my brain. <i>photojournalism ... photojournalism ... photojournalism</i>.
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Shit. I'm a dumbass. My eyes widened and I couldn't help but blurt out, 'I finally figured it out!' Which, needless to say, completely confused poor Brent. I didn't care, I had figured out what I was going to do with my life. (I did eventually explain to him why I had suddenly frightened the poor kid. He was not that worried, he had dealt with my A.D.H.D. all throughout high school choir.)
<br />
<br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i>Photojournalism</i>, what an amazing word! I had always loved taking pictures throughout my whole life. When we would go on trips to my cabin or as a family to various parts of the world I would always be that person who <i>always</i> had a camera with them. I would have so many pictures when we returned that they wouldn't fit on the maximum 5 target photo CDs. English had also always been my strong point in high school and I thank my sophomore year English teacher, Mrs. Meysenberg, for this one as well has Mrs. Dow who had always tried to get me to read one of my poems for speech team, but never succeeded in getting me to join. However, she was always the first person I brought a new poem to, because I knew she would take as much excitement in reading it as I had in writing it.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I love writing!
<br />
<br /></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Northern Michigan University does not offer photojournalism as a major, but they do offer an extremely strong photography program.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I am going to finish up my sophomore year at NMU as a declared photography major (I get a Macbook computer now!) then I will transfer back to University of Minnesota Twin Cities and finish up with a photojournalism degree.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I will travel the world for a few years and do whatever I can with that degree, then come back and go to medical school.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I am so excited I cannot even begin to describe it.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I love knowing what I am going to do with my life!</span></p> <blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >"I was a French and Music major at Northern Michigan University until the end! I would never change!”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I guess we have proven that statement not to be true!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I am pretty set on my current life decision, but you never know.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">However, for now, I am going to try my best to at least weekly (and then daily as time allows) keep up a blog here just to let the world know where God has taken me and my camera. (I need a new camera…)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">I am not expecting it to be anywhere exotic right off the bat, but for now I am satisfied with opening my eyes up more to the world around me and finding the beauty and inspiration in what God has given me.</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Until next time!
<br />McConnell out</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga7kTliASXIFkju1JZmSdlIZymgtbHtoxU7Dib69iq6MOQAG7hMXIJYrNkX6x6C6c-Sawu55X26LBETlXzaYWoD-G-zHhut6EQ6hOQs72_MVKbN6G2Z00kz7DI-CLN-y6Fd-6pDhzDvCGq/s1600/photography1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga7kTliASXIFkju1JZmSdlIZymgtbHtoxU7Dib69iq6MOQAG7hMXIJYrNkX6x6C6c-Sawu55X26LBETlXzaYWoD-G-zHhut6EQ6hOQs72_MVKbN6G2Z00kz7DI-CLN-y6Fd-6pDhzDvCGq/s200/photography1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408547467627594690" border="0" /></a></span></p><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >The old life is gone; a new life has begun!"</span><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >-</span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >2 Corinthians 5:17 </span>Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-40403985507441102002009-01-11T12:26:00.000-08:002009-11-27T12:26:19.860-08:00Haiti Day 10Jouer 10<br />Le 11 Janvier, 2009<br /><br />The day started out b the beach again, where we haggled with some salesmen to get a few trinkets to take home with us. We relaxed and I got more sunburned especially on my face. We then headed for the airport. I swear, I almost peed my pants the entire drive there. It’s scary driving in Haiti. There are no rules of the road. I could have sworn we almost died about twenty times. Luckily, we made it through the hustle and bustle and somehow ended up at the airport.<br />I swear, there are about 50 security checks in the Port au Prince airport. I have never felt so uncomfortable flying in my entire life. Normally, I just ease and breeze through it, but here I was, stumbling the entire way. I am no longer used to chaos, crowds, and being stressed.<br />I’m torn. Since being in Port-Au-Prince and not at the orphanage, I have just felt anxious to get home. The main part of my heart, however, is still at the orphanage. They say home is where the heart is. What if your heart is stuck with a hundred orphans thousands of miles away? They say just follow your feet, they will lead you home. I know I’ll be back one day soon. The orphanage still has a ton of work that needs to be done on it.<br />This trip has changed my heart in many ways. They don’t need teachers in Haiti, they need doctors. I feel called by the Lord to do so…to become a doctor, but it scares me because I’m terrible with science… Anatomy and biologoy… whatever! I’m just terrible. I then thought of my favorite quote, “if God brings you to it, He’ll bring you through it.” God has brought me to it. The road will be difficult and long and I’ll really have to work hard and sacrifice a lot, but I will get there. I know I will, there is not a doubt in my mind.<br />Haiti has changed my perspective on a lot of things in life. For one, my patience has more than doubled after everything there. I also appreciate more of what I have and realize just how little I really do need. I think, no, I know Haiti will change the way I go about my life. Everything I do, the money I earn, the subjects I study, all will go towards returning to and helping Haiti. I used to groan and moan about homework or work. Nothing compares to what I just did in Haiti. Everything is better if you allow yourself to enjoy it, which I think is the opposite of the general American way of thinking. We all think pessimistically about so much in life. Yes, if you are going to think something sucks, it will suck; but if you constantly try to look for something fun or positive about your situation, then life will breeze by and take you with it with a smile on your face.<br />We made it to the airport after breaking off the ‘oh crap’ handle. Adam: “so that’s how the other one broke off!” Sudden stops do not work so well with them.<br />We had to wait twenty minutes on the ground before we got in our Miami gate and we were running late. We pushed forward as much as we could through a security and dead out sprinted to our next plane. I had an asthma attack in the process.<br />We would have made it with just five minutes before they shut the door, but our plane had not even come yet even though the monitors all read ‘on time.’ The plane boarded a half hour late, and then the fuel gage was broken. The maintenance guy was on break and all they needed was a five minute stick test. We ended up leaving an hour and a half late and did not land in Minneapolis until 1 a.m.<br />Saying goodbye was hard. We discovered just how small a world it is when we found out Andy and my mom were in the same divorce class. I can already feel the stress of the world around me cave in. The culture shock is intense as I return to the world in which I live; bidding goodbye to the world I now call home.Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6139585725433949776.post-57265983898859109692009-01-10T12:25:00.000-08:002009-11-27T12:25:51.597-08:00Haiti Day 9<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:relyonvml/> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cmmcconne%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> <w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> <w:word11kerningpairs/> <w:cachedcolbalance/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathpr> <m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"> <m:brkbin val="before"> <m:brkbinsub val="--"> <m:smallfrac val="off"> <m:dispdef/> <m:lmargin val="0"> <m:rmargin val="0"> <m:defjc val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent val="1440"> <m:intlim val="subSup"> <m:narylim val="undOvr"> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defunhidewhenused="true" defsemihidden="true" defqformat="false" defpriority="99" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="0" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Normal"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="heading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="9" qformat="true" name="heading 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 7"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 8"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" name="toc 9"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="35" qformat="true" name="caption"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="10" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" name="Default Paragraph Font"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="11" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtitle"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="22" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Strong"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="20" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="59" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Table Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Placeholder Text"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="1" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="No Spacing"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Revision"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="34" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="List Paragraph"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="29" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="30" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Quote"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Light Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Dark List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:2; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 268435456 0 0 -2147483648 0;} @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">Jouer 9</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">Le 10 Janvier, 2009</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">I woke up this morning around 7 or so and brushed my teeth.<span style=""> </span>I then just wandered around and joked around with the Haitian workers and the group.<span style=""> </span>The group was mixed in feelings with all those heading home today.<span style=""> </span>Some were excited and some were not, then there was me:<span style=""> </span>I’d rather curl up and die than leave Haiti, but I have to go.<span style=""> </span>I need to go to school.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">Breakfast was solid pancakes, pineapple, and oatmeal once again.<span style=""> </span>I sat next to Ronnie whose presence just seems to calm me.<span style=""> </span>We had a lot of fun and it was easy to see just how close the group had become.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">After breakfast, Jerry and I checked his e-mail to find that Steph had sent us the names of the two kids the orphanage was sponsoring.<span style=""> </span>The boy was Tiken who was a part of the first group.<span style=""> </span>The girl was Judencie!!<span style=""> </span>I could not believe it when I heard.<span style=""> </span>My favorite girl in the orphanage was the one the youth group was sponsoring!<span style=""> </span>I had Wilfred help me find them, got our picture taken, then loaded my stuff on the bus.<span style=""> </span>(Couldn’t find Tiken <span style="font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="">L</span></span>)</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">The worst part of the entire trip came next: saying goodbye.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">The goodbyes started with Ricardo who just hollered ‘Megrit!” then gave me a huge hug.<span style=""> </span>It was like saying goodbye to family.<span style=""> </span>We exchanged emails because he wants to practice his English and I want to practice my French and we both want to keep in touch.<span style=""> </span>Next was Marcello; (Marco) more hugs and he gave me his number.<span style=""> </span>Then Emmanuel- who refused email address exchanges because I have to come back again to get it.<span style=""> </span>It’s hard to say goodbye.<span style=""> </span>Then we all took some pictures.<span style=""> </span>Finally, it was time to say goodbye to Ronnie.<span style=""> </span>I almost cried! <span style=""> </span>We exchanged hugs and email addresses, then I headed towards the bus and had almost made it when I got a ‘hey, hey!’ from Jerry, “you forgetting your own fellow roof team!?”<span style=""> </span>I ran back and gave them all a hug.<span style=""> </span>I already miss Jerry.<span style=""> </span>He makes me smile so much, he’s such a friendly guy, and really took such good care of me.<span style=""> </span>I finished with hugs and hopped on the bus to Port-au-Prince.</p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">We dropped the Texans off at the airport then our group crammed into the Kia with me, Andy, and Annie in the back.<span style=""> </span>It was a fun, semi-bumpy ride as we passed through a few stereotypical Haitian towns with everything built on piles of dump.<span style=""> </span>The ride lasted and hour and a half and I got a little sunburned, but we made it safely to ____ bay.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>It’s easy to forget we’re in Haiti while we’re in this place.<span style=""> </span>It is like being in a hotel in the Bahamas again.<span style=""> </span>The rooms are gorgeous and we had an amazing lunch with a ton of bread and butter.<span style=""> </span>Right after lunch, we swam in the ocean, which felt amazing, bought some jewelry from the beach vendors, laid in the sun, watched the sun set, then took a nice warm shower before meeting up to talk for a while before dinner.<span style=""> </span>Exhaustion came quick.<span style=""> </span>I finished my book, now it is time for sleep.</p> Margarethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03152146340634005722noreply@blogger.com0