<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647</id><updated>2011-07-01T10:26:07.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Words On A Page</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>50</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-7021800061505515625</id><published>2011-07-01T10:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T10:26:07.736-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Still Standing</title><content type='html'>It's hard to believe just how different my life is from the last time I actually wrote on this thing. My last post was about starting over and that's exactly what I've done. Allow me to recap the past two years:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*moved to Anderson, SC&lt;br /&gt;*moved to Marion, IN&lt;br /&gt;*spent two wretched weeks working in a factory (NEVER AGAIN!)&lt;br /&gt;*spent a year coaching high school girls basketball&lt;br /&gt;*spent a year substitute teaching&lt;br /&gt;*moved again in Marion, IN&lt;br /&gt;*spent eight months 911 dispatching for the sheriff's department&lt;br /&gt;*spent a year helping out with the IWU women's basketball team&lt;br /&gt;*spent four months working at a local health clinic&lt;br /&gt;*got a new job working in Fort Wayne, IN&lt;br /&gt;*moved to Fort Wayne, IN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in spite of all these "changes" that have happened over the past two years, the one that means the most to me, and that one that is nearly impossible to explain, is the change that has happened in my heart/mind/spirit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I wrote my last post about starting over back in 2009, my heart was broken, my mind was exhausted, and my spirit was weary. And while my heart is still fragile...my mind is refreshed and my spirit renewed. And you know what? I'm stronger because of it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't go as far to say "I wouldn't change a thing" because truth be told, if I could go back, I'd change a ton of things. I will, however, say that I'm thankful for it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is faithful.&lt;br /&gt;God is gracious.&lt;br /&gt;God is real!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-7021800061505515625?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/7021800061505515625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=7021800061505515625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7021800061505515625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7021800061505515625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2011/07/still-standing.html' title='Still Standing'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-4410768226639613352</id><published>2009-04-28T12:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T12:27:18.908-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Repeat</title><content type='html'>I wrote this post on my blog last January. Strange how relevant it still seems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Starting over is never easy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It requires you to begin again;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;to leave&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;somewhere/something comfortable &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and put yourself in a place of&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;uncertainty.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;While I am not an avid fan of starting over, I do understand the necessity of it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;There are times when we have no choice in the matter; times when it is decided for us.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;There are times when we have no other choice but to start over; times when it is our only option.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And there are times when we simply want to begin again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I can't say what time this is for me.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Part of me feels like I have no choice; as if someone else is calling the shots.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Part of me feels this is the only possible course of action; like the alternative could destroy me.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And part of me wants so desperately to begin again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;So here I am.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Forced or willing.......here I am, starting over.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The problem lies in those memories... pregnant with hope. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-4410768226639613352?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/4410768226639613352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=4410768226639613352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4410768226639613352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4410768226639613352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/04/repeat.html' title='Repeat'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-765788659496797976</id><published>2009-04-20T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T12:26:11.453-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In the midst of the storm</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SezMIJXgh9I/AAAAAAAAAF0/pgaKhZaK5TY/s1600-h/rain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326856899597993938" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SezMIJXgh9I/AAAAAAAAAF0/pgaKhZaK5TY/s320/rain.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Sometimes I feel like I really should suck it up and stop being such a baby. The "problems" or "storms" in my life are nothing compared to those of some others. My life truly is blessed and regardless of what I may be going through today, God has already done more for me than I could ever hope to think or ask. But even knowing all that, I sometimes still feel as if I am in the middle of a storm that is raging out of control. It may be inconsequential to everyone else around me, but to me it is exhausting and frightening and completely overwhelming. My dear friend, Erin, shared this with me today and it was like salve to my soul. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;"There's something about strong winds that make you realize how easily you could blow away. There's something about Jesus sleeping thru such winds that make me realize how confident He must have been in His ability to speak to a storm. There's something about that which makes me really take heart in hearing the words "Peace. Be still."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I realize that, even as we are doing well here and are really making this transition well, we all really need to hear His word: "Peace."Peace. Be still. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Take a deep breath (I'm talking to myself, here). My God is bigger than these gale-force winds... whatever they are... we may have to walk with our heads down pressing forward with all our might, but we will not be blown away. Nor will you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;My prayer in the midst of this storm is for peace; peace to face it head on(whether I like it or not) and overcome and grow. And that peace can't be fabricated or faked. That peace comes directly from the One who both created the storm and has the power to calm it at any moment. Lord, let me be still!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-765788659496797976?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/765788659496797976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=765788659496797976' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/765788659496797976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/765788659496797976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-midst-of-storm.html' title='In the midst of the storm'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SezMIJXgh9I/AAAAAAAAAF0/pgaKhZaK5TY/s72-c/rain.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-8320645494091640256</id><published>2009-04-20T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T11:02:00.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Having you there....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey3ObjTnNI/AAAAAAAAAFs/YHdh9DcmBwM/s1600-h/pics+037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326833917814349010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey3ObjTnNI/AAAAAAAAAFs/YHdh9DcmBwM/s320/pics+037.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey2cH5WlhI/AAAAAAAAAFk/lSaq43WU5n8/s1600-h/pics+020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326833053544650258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey2cH5WlhI/AAAAAAAAAFk/lSaq43WU5n8/s320/pics+020.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey2PEpbdOI/AAAAAAAAAFc/2RqjUtKG0TQ/s1600-h/2009+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326832829334254818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey2PEpbdOI/AAAAAAAAAFc/2RqjUtKG0TQ/s320/2009+012.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"You are better off to have a friend than to be all alone, because then you will get more enjoyment out of what you earn. If you fall, your friend can help you up." ~Eccl. 4:9-10&lt;br /&gt;*********************************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My life is so much more enjoyable because of the beautiful women God has placed in my life. And my life is so much more bearable because they are there to help shoulder the load that this life offers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;*********************************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I love you, girls! From the core of who I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-8320645494091640256?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/8320645494091640256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=8320645494091640256' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8320645494091640256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8320645494091640256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/04/having-you-there.html' title='Having you there....'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/Sey3ObjTnNI/AAAAAAAAAFs/YHdh9DcmBwM/s72-c/pics+037.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2048059868931442401</id><published>2009-04-03T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T11:36:36.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Resting...</title><content type='html'>I had my ipod on shuffle this afternoon and these words seemed to come at the moment I most needed to hear them today. Thank you Reuben Morgan.  And thank you to my Heavenly Father who knows exactly what I need and when I need it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In to Your hands I commit again&lt;br /&gt;All I am for you, Lord&lt;br /&gt;You hold my world&lt;br /&gt;In the palm of Your hands&lt;br /&gt;And I am yours. Forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus, I believe in You&lt;br /&gt;Jesus, I believe in You&lt;br /&gt;You're the reason that I live;&lt;br /&gt;The reason that I sing with all I am&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll walk with you wherever You go&lt;br /&gt;Through tears and joys&lt;br /&gt;I'll trust in You&lt;br /&gt;And I will live in all of your ways;&lt;br /&gt;Your promises. Forever&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2048059868931442401?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2048059868931442401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2048059868931442401' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2048059868931442401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2048059868931442401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/04/resting.html' title='Resting...'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2430750847236530290</id><published>2009-04-02T09:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T12:10:06.647-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When The Rain Comes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SdTnIEH4bVI/AAAAAAAAAFE/UWRTnFy5xlE/s1600-h/raining.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320131185563168082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 222px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SdTnIEH4bVI/AAAAAAAAAFE/UWRTnFy5xlE/s320/raining.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When the rain comes it seems that everyone has gone away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When the night falls you wonder if you shouldn't find someplace &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To run and hide&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Escape the pain&lt;br /&gt;But hiding's such a lonely thing to do&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I can't stop the rain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;From falling down on you again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I can't stop the rain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I will hold you 'til it goes away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When the rain comes you blame it on the things that you have done&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When the storm fades you know that rain must fall on everyone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Rest awhile&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It'll be alright&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;No one loves you like I do&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I can't stop the rain&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;From falling down on you again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I can't stop the rain &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I will hold you 'til it goes away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When the rain comes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will hold you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;~Third Day&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2430750847236530290?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2430750847236530290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2430750847236530290' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2430750847236530290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2430750847236530290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-rain-comes.html' title='When The Rain Comes'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SdTnIEH4bVI/AAAAAAAAAFE/UWRTnFy5xlE/s72-c/raining.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-6276739707821937540</id><published>2009-03-25T08:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T04:16:46.128-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friendship</title><content type='html'>I've lived a lot of places in my life. I've worked at a lot of different jobs. I've played on a lot of teams. And consequently, I know a lot of people. I don't mean that arrogantly either. I have had the privilege of interacting with and getting to know a large number of very different people. There are old classmates, going back to my K-5 days and all the way through my one shining semester in grad school. There are old teammates from middle school, high school, AAU, college, and church league. There are people I was in 4-H with. There are people from each of my very different jobs, starting when I was ten years old. There are people from church. There are people from the gym. There are people who I know through my six siblings. There are people I just know through other people. Most of these people I would venture to classify as acquaintances of mine, in varying degrees of relationship. Some of them I haven't seen or talked to in years and some I may never talk to again. But there are a few, a select few that I would proudly call my friends. And an even smaller number who are my "kindred spirits", my +1's, the friends to whom my soul is forever tied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Friends come and friends go, but a true friend sticks by you like family." (Prov 18:24)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying to think about what a true friend is and what characteristics they possess. These are the things I recognize in my true friends that I value, cherish, and am so thankful for. They're always there, no matter the circumstances. They "love at all times", even in the midst of conflict, adversity, and despair. They are the ones there to pick me up when I fall, encourage me when I falter, and praise me when I succeed. They understand the value of having my trust. They respect the choice I have made to confide in them and they protect that. They protect me. They prove themselves every day as worthy of my trust. They respect me. They put up with my craziness. They don't judge me in my weakness. They're quick to forgive. They listen.....a lot. They love me in spite of myself. They love me outside of themselves. They extend grace to me when I least deserve it. They are for me. They cheer me on, having no personal stake in my success. They accept who I am. They don't require me to prove anything. They do not look to me for validation or worth. They are the hands and feet of Jesus in my life. They confront me in candor and love. They encourage me in my walk with Christ. They speak Truth into my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't deserve to have any of these people in my life, but in His grace, God has blessed me with more than a few. I do not know where or what I would be without the true friends God has placed in my life. I only hope and pray that I can be that type of friend in return. I love you guys!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-6276739707821937540?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/6276739707821937540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=6276739707821937540' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6276739707821937540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6276739707821937540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/friendship.html' title='Friendship'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3360941007087500568</id><published>2009-03-23T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T11:10:02.339-07:00</updated><title type='text'>3.23.09</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I wasn't sure where this phrase came from, but I felt the strongest urge to use it today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"piss or get off the pot"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;As it turns out, it's absolutely fitting for how I feel today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"[Piss] or get off the pot" is a common English language colloquial expression, used to imply a person should follow up their stated intentions, with action. It is also used to urge someone to complete a task with a greater degree of efficiency or timeliness than is observed at the time the expression is used."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Like I said: fitting!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3360941007087500568?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3360941007087500568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3360941007087500568' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3360941007087500568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3360941007087500568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/32309.html' title='3.23.09'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-7445324886913537546</id><published>2009-03-23T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T07:38:17.563-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Naples</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SceV4A_veuI/AAAAAAAAAE8/jbo6xeM7VLw/s1600-h/NAPLES+044.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316382674706725602" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SceV4A_veuI/AAAAAAAAAE8/jbo6xeM7VLw/s320/NAPLES+044.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Three days spent in Naples, Florida doesn't hardly seem like enough. It was the first time I'd actually watched the sun set over the ocean and it was absolutley breathtaking every time. I didn't realize how much quicker sunset happens than sunrise. Once it gets to a certain point on the horizon line, that big ball of fire just seems to free fall suddenly. It really is amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent three glorious days with my best friend from high school and her mom, in an 11th floor condo, on Vanderbilt Beach. We spent hours at the pool, took several long walks on the beach, ate the most glorious piece of grouper EVER, and caught up on the past several years. I'm so thankful that they dragged me along on this little vaca' and look forward to our trip next summer.  Marco Island, anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always seem to get introspective after vacations, which I'm going to assume is completely normal. Anyway, we were sitting around the pool on Sunday morning and Kristin asked me what I was planning on doing for my birthday this year, which will by #29. I'm not really big on birthday celebrations, probably because I just don't like being the center of attention, but I'm well aware that I'm creepin' up on the big 3-0 and probably warrants some kind of celebration. I guess I'm just not in a hurry to admit that the years keep passing. I want so desperately for my life to move and I don't even care what direction it goes in. I just want some type of movement. But just like I reminded a dear friend last week, sometimes we're put in a position where waiting is the only option. Sometimes, God calls us to a task that creates a situation in which we have no other option but to let go. I guess I thought that the older I got the more control I would have, but as it turns out, the older I get the more I realize just how little control I actually do have.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-7445324886913537546?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/7445324886913537546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=7445324886913537546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7445324886913537546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7445324886913537546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/naples.html' title='Naples'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SceV4A_veuI/AAAAAAAAAE8/jbo6xeM7VLw/s72-c/NAPLES+044.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-5344075363693717237</id><published>2009-03-16T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T12:40:00.445-07:00</updated><title type='text'>just to keep me going</title><content type='html'>"God proves to be good....to the woman who diligently seeks.&lt;br /&gt;      It's a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. &lt;br /&gt;It's a good thing when you're young to stick it out through the hard times."&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                  (Lam. 3:25)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-5344075363693717237?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/5344075363693717237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=5344075363693717237' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5344075363693717237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5344075363693717237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/just-to-keep-me-going.html' title='just to keep me going'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-6315465368274736291</id><published>2009-03-09T07:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T08:08:42.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just a reminder</title><content type='html'>I needed to be reminded this morning of a very simple, yet hugely comforting truth about my Jesus. Luckily, this song came on my ipod...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So faithful, so constant and so true&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So powerful in all You do&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You fill me, You see me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You know my every move&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You love for me to sing to You&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;***&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I know that You are for me, I know that You are for me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I know that You will never forsake me in my weakness&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And I know that You have come now even if to write upon my heart&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;To remind me who You are&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;***&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I'm amazed at how easy it is for me to think that God has no idea where I am in my life, or that He knows exactly where I am and has allowed me to get to this point only to make me miserable. I'm ashamed to admit that I think that sometimes, but it's true. So many times I question the way in which He is working in my life and think arrogantly that I could do so much better. I'm not sure why I would think I could do better, but for some reason I do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;                                                                              &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;                                                                                 ***  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We have been working our way through the book of Mark at church and there are two things that are continuously jumping out at me every week. One is that the things that I want are not necessarily the things that I need. It's hard to let go of things that I am convinced would be right for me, but I am learning to trust that my Father is taking care of me and that He is "for me" in every situation. The other thing I've been learning is that even though I constantly try to control and manipulate situations to get what I want, He simply waits for me to stop struggling and then steps back in and reminds me who He is. In His patience, He never gets frustrated with me. In His Love, He never gives up on me. In His grace, He never turns me loose.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;                                                                                 ***&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He sees me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He hears me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;He's for me.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And that's enough to get me through today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-6315465368274736291?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/6315465368274736291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=6315465368274736291' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6315465368274736291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6315465368274736291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/just-reminder.html' title='Just a reminder'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2838522480022623336</id><published>2009-03-06T08:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T08:20:36.842-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring Break '09</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SbFL-ut_UoI/AAAAAAAAAE0/oDYWmGRIHIU/s1600-h/beach.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310108976711422594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SbFL-ut_UoI/AAAAAAAAAE0/oDYWmGRIHIU/s320/beach.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Where: Vanderbilt Beach, Naples, Florida&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When: March 19-22, 2009&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What: Body Bronzing 101&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Who: Yours Truly!!!! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2838522480022623336?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2838522480022623336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2838522480022623336' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2838522480022623336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2838522480022623336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/spring-break-09.html' title='Spring Break &apos;09'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SbFL-ut_UoI/AAAAAAAAAE0/oDYWmGRIHIU/s72-c/beach.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3725590667579024484</id><published>2009-03-04T08:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T08:59:15.198-08:00</updated><title type='text'>beware</title><content type='html'>i started taking my medication, or "leptic pills" as they have been so aptly named by my best friend. i've been taking them consistently for four days, if four days can even be considered consistent. when the doctor handed me the samples and said, "these should help you stay awake throughout the day", i believed her. i really did. i was excited about feeling awake, but now i'm starting to believe she was full of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i slept eight hours last night. i even decided to tivo &lt;em&gt;the bachelor&lt;/em&gt; so i could get an extra hour of sleep, which wasn't too difficult considering the crap jason mesnick pulled on monday night's three hour spectacle. i'm still upset about that. anyway, i decided that watching jason and molli discuss their relationship could wait. i wanted to make sure i was rested for today since it's gonna be a long one. so, i crawled in bed at ten o'clock and fell asleep shortly thereafter. sadly when i woke up this morning, i didn't feel a minute of it. it felt like i had just laid my head down. you know it's bad when everyone at work asks if you're okay and tells you how awful you look. today i'd have to agree with them. i look as tired as i feel. and i took my pill this morning. go figure!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but that's not the worst of it. i've been tired for months, maybe even years. that i can handle. it's miserable, but i can deal with it. the thing i can't handle is how these "leptic pills" are making me feel. my good friend, sara, is having a baby in june. she had a hormotional episode the other day where she basically felt like a stranger in her own body. now while i'm not pregnant and have nowhere near the hormones raging as she does - that's exactly how i feel. i don't feel like myself and i haven't for the past several days....four days, to be exact. at first i just thought it was the exhaustion that was making me feel this way, but after doing a little researching online - i'm blamin' the pills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i blog about this only to warn those whom i interact with regularly.&lt;br /&gt;i'll say it before i need to, "it's not me! it's the pills"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3725590667579024484?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3725590667579024484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3725590667579024484' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3725590667579024484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3725590667579024484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/03/beware.html' title='beware'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3502267958612493495</id><published>2009-02-27T05:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T05:49:42.177-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Results Are In</title><content type='html'>After three weeks of waiting, I finally got the results of my sleep study yesterday afternoon. I arrived at the Sleep Disorder Clinic around three o'clock and joined three other people in the waiting room, all of which happened to be middle-aged, heavy set, men. I just kept thinking to myself how out of place I felt in there. They all brought their CPAP machines with them, stored tightly in their handy-dandy carrying cases and I began to panic over the fact that I was soon to be issued one of those same machines, in a boring, boyish, blue case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True to form in the medical field, I was made to wait about twenty-five minutes to see the doctor. It was all I could do to fight from laying my head back on that chair and going to sleep. Anyone who is around me a lot, you know how often I say, "I could go to sleep right here". That's really how I feel all the time. It doesn't matter when or where. So needless to say, I was ready for the results.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They finally came out and called my name and I followed Dr. Sokhandan to her office. I was a little nervous when I sat down across from her because all I could see were these CPAP, Darth Vadar, elephant breathing machines on the shelf in front of me.  She pulled out this manilla folder with my name on it, and started glancing over the results from my sleep study.  I held my breath. Then I heard her say that my evening study did not show any signs of my having sleep apnea at all. In fact, all of those results looked relatively normal. Then she moved on to the day study results, which is when I had taken all those naps. The red flag to her was the fact that at twenty-eight years old, I was able to fall asleep within 5-10 minutes every time and sleep soundly enough to reach a dream state. In her words, "that's not a good thing" and "from these results, I would diagnose you with a mild case of narcolepsy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Narcolepsy, people. Beka has narcolepsy! It's not the severe kind where I fall asleep mid-conversation or behind the wheel, but it is mild enough to cause me to suffer from Extreme Drowsiness Syndrome (EDS). And no, I did not make that up. That's legit. I'm still not one hundred percent sure of everything, but here's what I know. I sleep at night, without being restless or without gasping for air. The problem is a chemical imbalance in my brain with the protein that regulates sleep and awake cycles.  I'm already researching the protein itself and also the meds she gave me to try and regulate it. I don't really want to be on a prescription med for the rest of my life, but I do want to feel awake. Who knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All this to say, I DO NOT have sleep apnea.&lt;br /&gt;I DO have narcolepsy.&lt;br /&gt;I've seen &lt;em&gt;Deuce Bigalow&lt;/em&gt;. Let the jokes and taunting begin. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3502267958612493495?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3502267958612493495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3502267958612493495' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3502267958612493495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3502267958612493495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/02/results-are-in.html' title='The Results Are In'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2450501687837462086</id><published>2009-02-12T08:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T08:12:01.252-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holding On</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Maybe it's my extreme exhaustion. Maybe it's my hormones, which tend to be thrown off by my exhaustion. Maybe it's just the fact that time is passing, against my will. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Whatever the reason, I find myself desperate today. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;****************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm desperate for God to really show up in my life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm desperate for Him to show me what to do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm desperate for change.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;**************** &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And He knows that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He sees me where I am. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He hears my heart's cry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;He cares about all of it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;****************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And so I cling to His promise, once again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;*******&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;"But God's not finished. He's waiting around to be gracious to you.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;He's gathering strength to show mercy to you.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;God takes time to do everything right - everything.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Those who wait around for Him are the lucky ones."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Isaiah 30:18)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2450501687837462086?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2450501687837462086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2450501687837462086' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2450501687837462086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2450501687837462086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/02/holding-on.html' title='Holding On'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-417026821267978337</id><published>2009-02-10T09:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T10:58:52.346-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fingers Crossed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday night I checked myself into the Southeast Regional Sleep Disorder Center for my much-anticipated sleep study. I was really excited about getting it over with, but was just as nervous about what I could expect from the experience. I've been so ready to find out what is keeping me from ever feeling really rested. Although I wasn't given any "results", I was told that they "got a good study and the doctor shouldn't have any problem making a diagnosis". Somehow that didn't ease the anxiety of it all, but I guess we'll find out in two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allow me to tell the story....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I drove up to the building, and parked my Explorer among the 4 others in the parking lot. I belive there were 2 other studies going on at the same time, plus the night-shift technicians working. Anyway, so I walked in the door and was greeted by a sweet, Southern, white-haired woman named, Ann. She was responsible for "taking care of me" that night. She walked me down the hallway to my room, which somewhat resembled a hotel room. She showed me where the bathroom and the kitchen were and then gave me time to get ready for "bed" so she could get me ready for the study. Little did I know how I was to be prepared! I washed my face and brushed my teeth and then went back to my room, #4 (I shall never forget it), and then Ann came in and proceeded to hook me up. She attached 4 electrodes to my legs, 1 to my side, 2 on my chest, 7 on my head/scalp, 4 on my face, a snore mic on my throat, and an oxygen monitor to my nose. Needless to say, I was a sight. Just ask the two people I was brave enough to send the picture to. They know and were quick to tell me how ridiculous I looked. See for yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301244970943007362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SZHONsBiSoI/AAAAAAAAAEs/qqcEh72qyDY/s320/Picture+099.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she attached on the wires and electrodes to me, she had me get into the bed (the bed was actually really really comfy, which was a pleasant surprise). Had I not been wired up like a nuclear weapon, I may have slept more soundly. Maybe that's the point though. Anyway, she ushered me off to dreamland, but not before talking to me through the intercom. I failed to mention that there was an intercom and a video camera in #4 with me, wherewith my every word and action could be monitored. Creepy. She spoke to me through the speaker and had me shift my eyes, blink, grind my teeth, cough, move my legs, and all this other stuff that I'm not sure what the purpose was. After sending quite a few text messages, I was able to doze off. I did wake up sometime in the night to Ann standing over my bed with a replacement oxygen monitor thingy (official name) because I had somehow removed mine from my face. Joy! I had no problem going right back to sleep, but was awakened once again by Ann saying, "You're almost at 8 hours, so it's time to wake up". Seriously, Ann? I was not happy with her, despite her precious dimeanor the night before. She informed me that the day shift technician would be in my room in about 30 minutes to get me ready for my first nap. A nap? I just woke up. The kicker was that when you weren't sleeping you had to be out of the bed. So, I dragged my squinty self over the the recliner and turned on the tv to try and stay awake. There's really nothing on that early except informercials, which I reluctantly zoned out to. I think it was something about teaching babies to read. It looked legit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thirty minutes later, Kelly comes in to get me ready for my first nap. I never saw Ann again. Too bad. I liked her. Kelly explained to me that I would have twenty minutes to fall asleep and fifteen minutes to sleep. So, if I was able to fall asleep immediately then I could technically sleep for 35 minutes. At that point I would have taken 5 minutes. She hooked me back up the monitors, talked to me briefly through the intercom and then said something that I thought was hilarious. She said, "Go ahead and get comfortable and don't resist the urge to fall asleep". As if I would even want to resist the urge to fall asleep. I didn't resist in the slightest and was asleep in minutes only to be awakened minutes later, in the middle of my REM cycle, to be told my nap was over. BAH!!!! There was and hour and a half until my next nap, so I was forced to try and stay awake in my chair. I succeeded and then proceeded to take 4 more naps, each lasting 15 minutes. By the end of the day, I was pretty annoyed with Kelly for jerking me out of all my naps, even if that was her job. I finished the whole thing about 4:30pm on Monday evening and made a beeline for the backdoor. I was ready to be done with it. I needed a shower. I needed to eat. And I needed to sleep for more than 20 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that's the gist of it. It was an experience that I'm hoping proves fruitful and worthwhile. I'm hoping that when I go back in two weeks, the kind doctor will be able to provide some answers for my constant state of exhaustion and some solution for the problem. Fingers crossed, everyone!!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-417026821267978337?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/417026821267978337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=417026821267978337' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/417026821267978337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/417026821267978337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/02/fingers-crossed.html' title='Fingers Crossed'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SZHONsBiSoI/AAAAAAAAAEs/qqcEh72qyDY/s72-c/Picture+099.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-4828053663938713919</id><published>2009-02-02T11:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T11:30:00.182-08:00</updated><title type='text'>wasted</title><content type='html'>Q: Why did the boy throw the clock out the window?&lt;br /&gt;A: Because he wanted to see time fly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's the kind of joke my friend, Sara, would tell with a childlike giggle in her throat. That's one of the things I love about her, is her ability to make me laugh at something so not funny. As not funny as that joke is, the whole idea about time flying has had me thinking a lot lately. I've really begun to think about, and be conscious of, how I spend my time. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. I don't know. Whatever the reason though, I'm aware.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't feel like I waste time, although some could qualify the several hours a week I spend watching smutty tv as wasteful. I try to keep myself pretty busy every day. I've tried to involve myself in activities from sunrise to sunset, partly because I don't like going home to spend too much time in an empty apartment. Whatever the reason, I'm not home all that much. So, I've started to question how I'm spending my days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I work. I coach. I work out. I have Bible studies. I hang out with friends. None of those are bad things. But am I making a difference? Outside of work, there really isn't that much time left in each day and I want to make sure I'm actually &lt;strong&gt;using&lt;/strong&gt; the time I've been given for something that will last longer than me. I have no doubt that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be at this point in my life, but I don't want to simply be satisfied with being here. A lot of times I feel like I'm just hanging out and taking up space, but I know that's not true. I want to use this time I've been given to make a difference, whatever that looks like. I guess I'm just trying to figure that out and I guess my point in writing all this is to say that I want to be sure I'm not missing opportunities because I'm wasting the time I'm given.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-4828053663938713919?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/4828053663938713919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=4828053663938713919' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4828053663938713919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4828053663938713919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/02/wasted.html' title='wasted'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-1422946875179285702</id><published>2009-01-20T07:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T08:11:21.938-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep, Glorious Sleep</title><content type='html'>For the past couple of years I have been in a constant state of exhaustion. I know that I keep myself pretty busy with activity, but I have never been one to sacrifice sleep for anything. Even in college, I never pulled an all-nighter to study or even to socialize. I could always be found in my bunk, by 11:30pm, regardless of what everyone else had going on. I just need my sleep. I always have.  But the thing is, the past several of years I have never been able to get enough. It doesn't matter if I sleep 4 hours or 8 hours, my body feels the same: exhausted!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NO MORE!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow, Lord-willing, begins the process of fixing me; or fixing my problem rather. Tomorrow morning I have a consultation at the Southeastern Regional Sleep Disorders Center which will hopefully reveal what the heck is going on in my REM cycles.  I have this huge fear that I am going to join the ranks of my family that have sleep apnea and be forced to sleep with a cpap machine, but at this point I don't care if I sound like Darth Vadar when I sleep. At least I will be sleeping. I would give an arm and a leg to actually feel rested when I wake up in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know they were actually singing about food, but I just picture all those orphans in the movie, &lt;em&gt;Oliver, &lt;/em&gt;screaming at the top of their lungs "Sleep, glorious sleep....."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd sing along.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-1422946875179285702?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/1422946875179285702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=1422946875179285702' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/1422946875179285702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/1422946875179285702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/01/sleep-glorious-sleep.html' title='Sleep, Glorious Sleep'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-8991304550923754898</id><published>2009-01-14T05:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T05:41:07.313-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2009</title><content type='html'>I'm amazed at just how quickly time passes. Seriously. I've been out of high school for 11 years and out of college for 7 years. It's been almost 4 years since I moved to South Carolina. And to top it all off...dum dum dum...I turn 29 this year! That's just one year away from 30, people! 30!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't feel old. I probably should, but I don't. Not that 30 is old, but for some reason that number has this stigma on it in my mind. I'm sure when I turn 40, I'll remember with fondness the day I turned 30 and remember just how young I felt "back in those days".  But for now....29 precedes 30 and thirty freaks me out a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All that rambling to get to my point that time is short. People always say that and it's so easy for me to forget it, but it is unbelievably true! This is a new year; a chance to start over; a new beginning. Last year is gone with all its pain, joy, and mistakes. I can't go back and change things even if i wanted to. And I definitely can't go back and take advantage of the opportunities I missed along the way. They're gone. But the beautiful thing about this short life we've been given is that every day is new and every new year brings with it 365 days of newness to experience and enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never been one for New Years resolutions, but I decided that 2009 will be different. I've written down a list of goals for myself this year that will hopefully foster movement in my life. I don't want to look back at the end of 2009 and wonder what I accomplished this year or how I grew or how I made a difference. I really want to KNOW I did all of those things. Not that setting goals will guarantee that happens, but I'm hoping it will encourage the process. I'm excited about this year and all that it is sure to hold for me. That Michael Buble song just popped in my head...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"it's a new dawn. it's a new day. it's a new life for me. and i'm feelin' good"!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-8991304550923754898?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/8991304550923754898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=8991304550923754898' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8991304550923754898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8991304550923754898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2009/01/2009.html' title='2009'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-965418091679514351</id><published>2008-12-23T07:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T07:58:45.890-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2008</title><content type='html'>Today, in our weekly team meeting at work, we were asked to think about our highlights from the past year. What was great about '08? What were the memorable things that happened this past year? And honestly, it was a lot harder than I felt like it should have been. My life truly is so richly blessed and I have had so much to be thankful for over the past year. It makes me a little sad that I really had to think hard for highlights. That was a couple of hours ago and I have since had the wheels begin to turn and here is my revised list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~3rd half-marathon&lt;br /&gt;~Apt #168&lt;br /&gt;~Keegan James&lt;br /&gt;~Kate Elizabeth&lt;br /&gt;~Jonathan Liam&lt;br /&gt;~ My Sisters of Hope&lt;br /&gt;~ my little sister's wedding weekend&lt;br /&gt;~slowly paying off debt&lt;br /&gt;~reunions with college friends&lt;br /&gt;~the virginia creeper trail&lt;br /&gt;~the obx&lt;br /&gt;~Jane Austen&lt;br /&gt;~Lady Sabre Basketball&lt;br /&gt;~Raspberry Thompson&lt;br /&gt;~Landline&lt;br /&gt;~Dallas, TX&lt;br /&gt;~One Day Better&lt;br /&gt;~Family&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really could go on and on. The more I think of, the more amazed I am at just how good God has been to me. This past year was a hard year, but I wouldn't change anything about it. I have seen myself change in a way that I would have thought impossible, although I had hoped I could. And that's the seed in it all: HOPE! My hope has been restored this year. Or rather, my hope has been refocused and with focus comes peace. And peace....that's priceless!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-965418091679514351?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/965418091679514351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=965418091679514351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/965418091679514351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/965418091679514351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/12/2008.html' title='2008'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3007839496078718014</id><published>2008-11-20T06:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T06:40:46.787-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tagged A to Z</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://carpentersandkids.blogspot.com/2008/11/tagged-to-z.html"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A. Attached or single? still single&lt;br /&gt;B. Best friend? sarah-marie welch&lt;br /&gt;C. Cake or pie? pie, definitely&lt;br /&gt;D. Day of choice? Sunday&lt;br /&gt;E. Essential item? chapstick&lt;br /&gt;F. Favorite color? blue (pretty much any shade)&lt;br /&gt;G. Gummy bears or worms? worms&lt;br /&gt;H. Home town? Marion, IN&lt;br /&gt;I. Favorite indulgence? Sweet Tea from Macdonalds&lt;br /&gt;J. January or July? July - I hate bein cold&lt;br /&gt;K. Kids? not yet&lt;br /&gt;M. Marriage date? TBD&lt;br /&gt;N. Number of brothers and sisters? 3 brother and 3 sisters. we're a lot!&lt;br /&gt;O. Oranges or Apples? Apples&lt;br /&gt;P. Phobias?  drowning and being alone&lt;br /&gt;Q. Quotes? "hope does not disappoint&lt;br /&gt;R. Reasons to smile? grace, family, friends, a sunrise&lt;br /&gt;S. Season of choice? Fall&lt;br /&gt;T. Tag 5 people: if you're reading this, consider yourself.....TAGGED!!!&lt;br /&gt;U. Unknown fact about me? i cannot whistle&lt;br /&gt;V. Vegetable? asparagus......and yes i know about the smell&lt;br /&gt;W. Worst Habit? the doormat syndrome&lt;br /&gt;X. Xray or ultrasound? i can't wait to get an ultrasound and see a baby in there!&lt;br /&gt;Y. Your favorite food? chips &amp;amp; salsa&lt;br /&gt;Z. Zodiac sign? it switches tauras/gemini&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3007839496078718014?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3007839496078718014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3007839496078718014' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3007839496078718014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3007839496078718014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/11/tagged-to-z.html' title='Tagged A to Z'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-4007288433019335666</id><published>2008-11-12T08:47:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T09:04:20.332-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Manna</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SRsIrlXeF4I/AAAAAAAAADw/QtrAKv7zaCg/s1600-h/Picture+200.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267813733997877122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SRsIrlXeF4I/AAAAAAAAADw/QtrAKv7zaCg/s320/Picture+200.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"So the Lord will spell out his message for them again, repeating it over and over, a line at a time, in very simple words. Yet they will stumble over this simple straightforward message."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(Is. 28:13)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Manna is a simple reminder of God's love, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;a daily wooing of our hearts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Manna is obvious if we let it be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Like a lover who places love notes in the open, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;only to see his beloved too preoccupied to notice,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;God places manna in obvious places."&lt;br /&gt;(&lt;em&gt;The Allure of Hope&lt;/em&gt; by Jan Meyer)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;*************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;This was the manna that was left for me this morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Just what I needed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-4007288433019335666?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/4007288433019335666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=4007288433019335666' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4007288433019335666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4007288433019335666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/11/manna.html' title='Manna'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SRsIrlXeF4I/AAAAAAAAADw/QtrAKv7zaCg/s72-c/Picture+200.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3175074435139530116</id><published>2008-11-12T07:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T08:45:10.868-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blog Tagged</title><content type='html'>I've been blog tagged by Sara Thompson.  Here it goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I can't whistle. I can do something that resembles whisting in which I suck air in instead of blowing it out, but that means I can't whistle a song because I'm constantly having to breath. It's sad, really. I never learned correctly when I was smaller, but I will master it! Even if it takes me the rest of my life. And when I do master it, I will call all my closest friends and whistle the Hallelujah Chorus in two part harmony! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I must have been doing something else when I was younger while all the other kids were learning all these lifelong skills, but along with not being able to whistle I am also unable to do a cartwheel. It's embarassing, really. I've tried to learn, but this is one thing I'm okay with never being able to do.  My cartwheel consists of me bending over at the waste, placing both hands flat on the ground, and then hopping off of both feet about 2 inches in the air. It's sad, but terribly funny if you're watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I birdwatch. I know. I know. I'm not retired. I'm not a Baby Boomer. I just love birds. I think I learned to love it from going over to my grandparents' house. They had this huge feeding station set up in their backyard, with a huge picture window in the living room where we used to sit and watch them for hours. I would watch each one fly in to eat and ask my grandma what kind it was. She would tell me and then I would look it up in the Field Guide and find out all about it. I don't have many memories with my grandparents which is why I cling to this one. I even asked for binoculars for my 16th birthday, if that tells you anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I hate shoes. I would go barefoot all the time, if that was sanitary or socially acceptable. I'm sure there are parts of the world and the country where it is at least socially acceptable, but I don't live there. So - I wear shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. My mind is a steel trap. Anyone that knows me knows that's true. It doesn't matter what it is; movie quotes, song lyrics, conversations, dates. I remember it all. It's not exactly photographic or anything, but it's a steel trap for sure. It's normally a good thing, but on occasion the constant replay in my head is anything but healthy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. I have a strange, but completely normal, fascination with Native American Indians. I don't know where it came from. It started when I was in middle school where I would spend my lunch period every day in the library, reading everything I could get my hands on that had to do with Native Americans.  If I could go back in time to live during any time period, it would be during a time when Native Americans still inhabited this country and before the white man came in and stole their land and gave them small pox and alcohol.  Bunch of jerks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3175074435139530116?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3175074435139530116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3175074435139530116' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3175074435139530116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3175074435139530116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/11/blog-tagged.html' title='Blog Tagged'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-4189282781661655262</id><published>2008-11-12T07:23:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T07:33:35.488-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously???</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SRr1A_ET6-I/AAAAAAAAADo/Qq34pjhUyMI/s1600-h/Picture+203.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267792111441538018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SRr1A_ET6-I/AAAAAAAAADo/Qq34pjhUyMI/s320/Picture+203.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I wouldn't consider myself an uptight person, although I would classify myself as somewhat anal-retentive, especially when it comes to cleanliness. My apartment is not completely sterile and I leave dishes in my sink on occasion, but I cannot tolerate filth. Now while I recognize this overflowing trashcan is technically not "filth", it absolutley drives me crazy. It is obvious to me that the trashcan shown above is F-U-L-L. I see it plain as day. It needs to be emptied. I would even go as far to say that it would take less effort to empty it than it would to strategically hold the lid up, press the garbage down, trying to get one more piece to fit. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Am I alone in this? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Does anyone else not see the very obvious fact that &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;the trashcan is full? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Are people blind or just that lazy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Either way, it drives me crazy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Whatever that's worth!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-4189282781661655262?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/4189282781661655262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=4189282781661655262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4189282781661655262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4189282781661655262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/11/seriously.html' title='Seriously???'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SRr1A_ET6-I/AAAAAAAAADo/Qq34pjhUyMI/s72-c/Picture+203.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-6777135968678702453</id><published>2008-11-07T04:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T05:00:49.507-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How Much Is Too Much?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm not a quitter. I'm not. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I don't just walk away from something unfinished. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I don't give up on things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I don't write people off, no matter what.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I guess you could say I'm a faithful person.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I think my friends would call me loyal.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;They can count on me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;They can trust me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;They know that I'm always there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But I have recently begun to question this about myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Can you believe in someone too much?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Is there a point where you just give up and walk away?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;When do you convince yourself that things are never going to change?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And at what point do you look like an idiot for still having faith?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;This is where I find myself today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-6777135968678702453?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/6777135968678702453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=6777135968678702453' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6777135968678702453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6777135968678702453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/11/how-much-is-too-much.html' title='How Much Is Too Much?'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-7016864728997075555</id><published>2008-10-20T12:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T13:13:38.659-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Best of Times</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzmbfSgJ9I/AAAAAAAAADQ/k-i4iCb1dAQ/s1600-h/Picture+009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259331824791857106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzmbfSgJ9I/AAAAAAAAADQ/k-i4iCb1dAQ/s320/Picture+009.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzl6xqvoII/AAAAAAAAADI/hbOasAA2wag/s1600-h/n161502440_31286678_2267.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259331262789689474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzl6xqvoII/AAAAAAAAADI/hbOasAA2wag/s320/n161502440_31286678_2267.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzkCqPT6aI/AAAAAAAAADA/6iGYKehQDag/s1600-h/Picture+166.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259329199211276706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzkCqPT6aI/AAAAAAAAADA/6iGYKehQDag/s320/Picture+166.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzjpvD225I/AAAAAAAAAC4/EWpHy19fl9I/s1600-h/Picture+110.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259328771008682898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzjpvD225I/AAAAAAAAAC4/EWpHy19fl9I/s320/Picture+110.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fall has just begun and as the leaves begin to fall I am reminded of another year that has come and gone. I moved to SC almost four years ago and when I look at just how much my life has changed over the past four years, I am completely amazed. To come from a place of virtual solitude to a place of overwhelming support - is truly amazing to me. When I see the people that God has brought into my life and the friendships/family that He has given me, I really do get tears in my eyes. (Which I know is hard to believe, considering I'm a weeper) There really aren't words to express just how blessed I feel and how thankful I am. I guess it's the times we are speechless that allows the people who love us to hear the words we cannot say and feel the things we cannot share. To all my peeps, "Hear me when I say - I love you!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-7016864728997075555?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/7016864728997075555/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=7016864728997075555' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7016864728997075555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7016864728997075555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/10/best-of-times.html' title='Best of Times'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SPzmbfSgJ9I/AAAAAAAAADQ/k-i4iCb1dAQ/s72-c/Picture+009.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-155766081245947792</id><published>2008-10-02T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T09:46:56.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fool</title><content type='html'>Sadly, this idiot is where a lot of Americans are getting their "info" about politics, religion, and so much more. After listening to this clip, I was angry enough to want to write Elizabeth Hasselbeck &amp;amp; Sherry Shepherd a letter encouraging them to continue standing up for Truth and naive enough to think that the majority of people in this country have enough of a moral compass left to completely boycott Bill Maher's new movie, "Religilous".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euafWnqidko"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euafWnqidko&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7fv9kTwOuw"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-155766081245947792?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/155766081245947792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=155766081245947792' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/155766081245947792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/155766081245947792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/10/fool.html' title='Fool'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-212090415569767071</id><published>2008-10-01T04:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T04:45:43.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Anniversary!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SONb46fM8VI/AAAAAAAAACw/14IU7k3ODkA/s1600-h/m&amp;amp;d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252142623775060306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SONb46fM8VI/AAAAAAAAACw/14IU7k3ODkA/s320/m%26d.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;36 years is a long time to do anything.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;My parents celebrated their 36th wedding anniversary yesterday and when my dad told me it had been that long, I thought he was joking. My parents don't hardly seem that old, although my dad will celebrate the big 6-0 next year. Such a senior citizen. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;My mom and dad, although far from perfect, have been the best examples I could ask for when learning about marriage and love and family. They were married in 1972 and spent four years trying to have children, but never lost their faith that God was in control. In 1976 they got pregnant with my brother Jason and against their doctor's "advice" to terminate the pregnancy, they again held tight to their faith in a God who knows best. Obviously, my brother was born completely normal (although normal is not usually a Dean descriptor) and my parents spent the next 15 years bringing the rest of us into the world: Sarah, Beka, Leah, Joanna, Caleb, and Micah. And they said my mom couldn't have kids! Pah!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;We have never been wealthy by the world's standards and probably could have been labeled "Dirt Poor". The thing is, we never knew it. I never knew that my mom didn't know where the next meal was coming from, or that our Christmas presents were 'recycled' from the year before, or that my parents were struggling to pay the light bill. All we knew was that our mom and dad loved us and that we were all in this thing together. I think that's one of the most important things that kids need to know: that their mom &amp;amp; dad are committed to staying together and making it work, no matter what. My parents did that and gave all of us the peace and comfort knowing that our family was safe. I am eternally grateful for that!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;And my parents have taught me what it really means to love someone. It doesn't meant that you always agree. It doesn't mean that you dominate the other person. It doesn't mean that you require the other person to give up their individuality, their passions, or their interests. It means that you listen to what they have to say without judging. It means that you give them the space and freedom to be who they are and enjoy what they love. It means that you encourage them to become better. It means that you take care of them and a lot of times, place their needs above your own. It means that you support them. It means......that you love them. Like I said, my parents weren't perfect, but I know without a doubt that they love eachother; even when they can't stand eachother. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Thanks, Mom &amp;amp; Dad: Ellie &amp;amp; Jer: Granny &amp;amp; PJ. I love you both for loving eachother, loving our family and loving Jesus.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-212090415569767071?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/212090415569767071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=212090415569767071' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/212090415569767071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/212090415569767071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/10/happy-anniversary.html' title='Happy Anniversary!'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SONb46fM8VI/AAAAAAAAACw/14IU7k3ODkA/s72-c/m%26d.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-5270771193728173654</id><published>2008-09-26T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T11:18:06.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye, Apathy!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SN0m9CBXFFI/AAAAAAAAACo/u29--g_lxU4/s1600-h/square-med-nochegr.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250395570540319826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SN0m9CBXFFI/AAAAAAAAACo/u29--g_lxU4/s320/square-med-nochegr.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been apathetic for far too long when it comes to politics. I have always walked into the voting booth and pulled a straight Republican ticket, simply because that's what a "Christian" does - vote with the Right. Don't get me wrong. I am a right-winged Conservative who would vote for a candidate based solely on the position of pro-life/pro-choice, but as we get closer and closer to this year's Presidential election, I for once feel the need to educate myself on every issue and the stance each candidate takes on those issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, I constantly hear knowingly intelligent people voice their support of a man who is as much a Socialist as he is a resident of Chicago. I have listened to him deliver several "moving" speeches, but afterwards come away wondering what the hell he said that was anything close to substantial or even true. It's scary really. Frightening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also been completely shocked at the lengths to which the mainstream media have already gone to discredit and attack a woman who wants nothing more than to return the political process to its original intent, as designed by our founding fathers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Compound the whole election with the fact that our country is in the same condition economically that it was leading up to the Great Depression, and I believe that every American has a duty and an obligation to educate themselves on the issues; not on who Oprah supports or who is the better orator, but on the issues. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Educate yourself. Then, go cast your ballot on November 3rd.&lt;br /&gt;There is too much riding on this election to simply follow the crowd.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-5270771193728173654?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/5270771193728173654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=5270771193728173654' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5270771193728173654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5270771193728173654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/09/goodbye-apathy.html' title='Goodbye, Apathy!'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SN0m9CBXFFI/AAAAAAAAACo/u29--g_lxU4/s72-c/square-med-nochegr.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2817539885431892611</id><published>2008-09-12T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T06:12:06.899-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WOW!</title><content type='html'>At the suggestion of my cousin, Hannah, I recently purchased the book, "The Allure of Hope" by Jan Meyers. I am a pretty avid reader and have read quite a few books, spanning a wide variety of topics, but if I could suggest one book to every woman it would be this one. No matter your age and no matter where you are in life, this book is for you. It speaks to who we are as women, who we try so desperately to be as women, and just who God created us to be as women. I have a hard time telling people just what it is about because there is just so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For whatever reason, we have created this image of what a godly woman looks like that is so far from realistic and true. We have lost our innocence, our desire, our freedom, and our hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Every woman carries inside her an echo of [a] winsome spirit. Why is it just an echo? And why is this echo no resounding, increasing, expanding in the hearts of women who know the love of Christ? We are far more disciplined than we are at rest, far more committed than winsome, far more 'nice' than passionate, far more dutiful than free. Far more weary than filled with hope.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;How do some women carry their winsome spirit into their adult years despite the jolts and disappointments of life? How is their girlish dreaming transformed into the rich whimsy of a woman's heart? How do they become visionary women, not limited by naiivete and not paralyzed by fantasy? And how do they live above and in the midst of a frenzied church culture that does not seem to stir their hearts?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read this passage and knew that I wanted to be that kind of woman; a visionary. But the more I read, I realized that my picture of that woman was vastly different and majorly flawed. For so long I have thought that I had to have it all together, or at least appear that way. I didn't think that I could truly feel my emotions because somehow that was wrong or sinful. But the Psalms are filled with David's emotions; love, frustration, despair, anger, rage, depression. He was a man after God's own heart and yet he truly &lt;strong&gt;felt&lt;/strong&gt; things and wasn't afraid to tell God exactly how he felt. Why do we think we are so different? Why do we feel like we need to try and conceal our emotions? The truth is that God invites us to conversations with Him about our deepest fears, feelings, and emotions. The words in our hearts that we try so desperately to hide and silence, we have permission to take them straight to the Father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"He would rather have us railing, with face turned toward Him, than have us feign contentment as we turn our face from Him in our sullen anger. Why? Because He wants to see us rage? No, it is because He already knows we are furious, ant it is our fury, after all, that He died for.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Can you see how, for women this is often mistaken for the 'gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God'? We've somehow created an image of godliness that is closer to pablum than it is to salt and light. Again, we want to jump over the desperation and loneliness of the Fall and land in a place of serene contentment, [when the truth is, we were never meant to be completely satisfied]."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is fastly becoming one of the most freeing books I have ever read. Couple hope with the grace of God and you have a duo that is sure to change your life forever. I have already seen mine begin to change and I cannot wait to see what happens next.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2817539885431892611?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2817539885431892611/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2817539885431892611' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2817539885431892611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2817539885431892611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/09/wow.html' title='WOW!'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-8892648485879830352</id><published>2008-09-12T05:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T05:21:11.757-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Picture Change</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SMpeDz3bu-I/AAAAAAAAACg/3O7OQwHdm08/s1600-h/bl.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245108135581694946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SMpeDz3bu-I/AAAAAAAAACg/3O7OQwHdm08/s320/bl.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For as long as I can remember, our family portrait has contained a grand total of 9 faces.&lt;br /&gt;Now I recognize that to most people that number sounds ginormous already, but to the&lt;br /&gt;Deans, it's who we are. Jerry, Ellen, Jason, Sarah, Beka, Leah, Jo, Caleb, and Micah. We&lt;br /&gt;are the Deans and we are nine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On August 30, 2008 we became 10.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My little sister, Leah, went and got herself married to Ben Featherstone and began, what I can only hope is, a pattern of family additions. It was the most beautiful and fun weekend that I've had in a long time. With a bridal party of 27 and the majority of them staying together at my parent's house, it was an absolute blast. Like any older sibling, I was skeptical at first about my little sister getting married, but she has found the man created just for her; the man that loves her outside of himself; a man that has willingly entered the Dean drama and insanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our family picture is changing.&lt;br /&gt;Next summer we will add another face and become 11.&lt;br /&gt;I look forward to each addition.&lt;br /&gt;I say, "Bring 'em on!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-8892648485879830352?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/8892648485879830352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=8892648485879830352' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8892648485879830352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8892648485879830352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/09/picture-change.html' title='Picture Change'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SMpeDz3bu-I/AAAAAAAAACg/3O7OQwHdm08/s72-c/bl.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-801648609550556799</id><published>2008-08-21T04:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T05:00:21.084-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How Quickly We Forget</title><content type='html'>Your Redeemer God says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   "I left you, but only for a moment.    Now, with enormous compassion, I'm bringing you back.In an outburst of anger I turned my back on you—    but only for a moment. It's with lasting love    that I'm tenderly caring for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This exile is just like the days of Noah for me:    I promised then that the waters of Noah    would never again flood the earth.I'm promising now no more anger,    no more dressing you down.For even if the mountains walk away    and the hills fall to pieces, My love won't walk away from you,    my covenant commitment of peace won't fall apart."    The God who has compassion on you says so.&lt;br /&gt;                                                              Isaiah 54:7-10 (The Message)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-801648609550556799?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/801648609550556799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=801648609550556799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/801648609550556799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/801648609550556799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/08/how-quickly-we-forget.html' title='How Quickly We Forget'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3422610939219058996</id><published>2008-08-14T04:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T04:24:10.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Celine Dion</title><content type='html'>I think it's impossible to just sing a Celine Dion song.&lt;br /&gt;There's something about the power or passion in her music that&lt;br /&gt;compels you to not only sing along, but sing along at the top of your lungs.&lt;br /&gt;You know exactly what I'm talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Cause I'm your lady....and you are my man....whenever you reach for me...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time that song came on the radio, you had to belt it out as loud as you could. It didn't matter if you had yet to even reach womanhood, you had to join your voice with hers.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what it is about her voice, but it stangely brings this passion out of anyone who hears it, whether you like her music or not. The woman's got some pipes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I'm thinking about Celine Dion this morning, but maybe because last night there was a particular song/sentiment that I wanted so desperately to scream at the top of my lungs....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All by myself...Dont wanna be.....All by myself.......Anymore"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only last night, all I could muster was a small whisper of a voice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3422610939219058996?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3422610939219058996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3422610939219058996' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3422610939219058996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3422610939219058996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/08/celine-dion.html' title='Celine Dion'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3707950630655275115</id><published>2008-07-15T06:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T06:26:33.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nuggets of Truth</title><content type='html'>The Lord has brought me to this place.&lt;br /&gt;I am &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;where&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; I am by the grace of God, just as much as I am &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;who&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; I am because of His grace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It would be easy, and some days is, to try and look into the future to see just how everything&lt;br /&gt;is going to turn out. It think it's only human to want to exert some kind of power over the situation and want some say so in how things happen. Truth is though, we don't get a say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God is up to something and not just in the world. He's up to something in my life. And I can either enjoy the process or try and change things I have no control over. He has placed me in situations and surrounded me with amazing people for a reason. Who am I to try and figure out just what He is doing and why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, for the time being I think I'll just enjoy it all. I am going to embrace each situation and circumstance for what it is: an opportunity to learn more about myself and learn more about Jesus. And I am going to relish each opportunity I get to spend time with all of the amazing friends and family He has so graciously placed in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm giving up control and just living my life. And you know what? That's the best way to live.&lt;br /&gt;There's peace and freedom there. Who knew!?!?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3707950630655275115?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3707950630655275115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3707950630655275115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3707950630655275115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3707950630655275115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/07/nuggets-of-truth.html' title='Nuggets of Truth'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-7446485609960804197</id><published>2008-07-09T04:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T06:33:33.910-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220986605724468978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 450px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="240" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHSrp-tHhvI/AAAAAAAAACQ/D-uoXBsw01A/s320/July+08+007.jpg" width="423" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunsets are beautiful. Blah. Blah. Blah&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;As much as I marval at their beauty, I've only recently begun to marvel more in the renewal and restoration they seem to offer.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;As the sun falls from the sky each day, it's almost as if it latches on to layer upon layer of skyline and drags it past the horizon; each layer a different color and full of individuality.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;After the last sheet of color as fallen and the golden ball is completely out of site, &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;you are left in darkness,&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;scrambling to find your way.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;The only thing you can do is wait for the inevitable; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;wait for what you are sure of; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;wait for the sun to drag a new day up with it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;And here's what I know and have come to appreciate and relish over the past several months: the sun does rise, "tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it", and His mercies are new every morning. Yesterday and all its layers are gone the moment the sun falls from the sky draped in color. You cannot change anything about it. You can, however, change today. That's the beauty of sunsets to me; they're quickly followed by a sunrise. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;And a sunrise is full of newness, hope, and possibility.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-7446485609960804197?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/7446485609960804197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=7446485609960804197' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7446485609960804197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/7446485609960804197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/07/sunsets-are-beautiful.html' title='A New Day'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHSrp-tHhvI/AAAAAAAAACQ/D-uoXBsw01A/s72-c/July+08+007.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-4132688086952529085</id><published>2008-06-13T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T12:37:46.551-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SFLMU-CPMqI/AAAAAAAAACI/cS5QQyQHWuo/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211452379442918050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SFLMU-CPMqI/AAAAAAAAACI/cS5QQyQHWuo/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;"Funny how time and distance change you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The road you take don't always lead you home"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;These lyrics have been running through my head all day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Maybe because I'm hoping there's some truth to them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm hopeful that the first line is absolutley true.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm hoping upon hope that time and distance can change you;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; can change me;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; can change my heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I guess I'm hoping that this road I'm about to start out on...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; will lead me straight home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And by home, I mean back to myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-4132688086952529085?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/4132688086952529085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=4132688086952529085' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4132688086952529085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4132688086952529085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/06/day-1.html' title='Day 1'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SFLMU-CPMqI/AAAAAAAAACI/cS5QQyQHWuo/s72-c/untitled.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2444003329799289840</id><published>2008-05-21T06:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T07:32:05.349-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Year</title><content type='html'>On one's birthday, I feel it is proper to reflect over the past 365 days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allow me to recap my 27th year....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Confrontation, however much I loathe it, is necessary. It doesn't mean attacking the other person, but it does mean standing up for myself and standing up for what I believe to be right, both of which are worthy causes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Simplistic living really isn't all that bad. There's something to be said for living without clutter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Sometimes the worst decision turns out to be the catalyst for the best thing coming into your life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Family is not restricted to blood relation. Family is the people who love you unconditionally, support you regardless, and faithfully do life alongside you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  There's nothing wrong with knowing what you want and what you deserve. There is also nothing wrong with holding out for both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Jesus + Nothing = Everything!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all my people (you know who you are): I love you dearly and thank God for allowing me the priviledge of having you in my life. I am blessed beyond measure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2444003329799289840?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2444003329799289840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2444003329799289840' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2444003329799289840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2444003329799289840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/05/another-year.html' title='Another Year'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-4040737688501563180</id><published>2008-04-23T05:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T11:28:24.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Choices</title><content type='html'>I can't remember where I heard the statement "you teach people how to treat you", but it's begun to run through my mind on a daily basis. A wise friend told me a couple of nights ago that you can only hate how someone treats you or how you are treated in a relationship for so long. At some point you can't blame it on anyone else; at some point you have to realize that it's your fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't really want to hear that because it's easier to pretend like it's out of your control and that you're this helpless victim when it comes to being hurt and mistreated. I'm beginning to realize, ever so painfully, that I'm not a helpless victim in this. If anything, I'm a willful victim; some sort of masochist. And that realization causes my blood to boil, but at the same time breaks my heart. Because the truth is, when you open yourself up in a relationship you fully expect the other individual to respect that and respect you. You never hope or expect for someone to simply take what they want out of their end of the relationsihp and care nothing about your end. It saddens me to think that people are that selfish and it saddens me even more that I trusted them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read an article this morning and it seemed all too relevant. Here is a portion of it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"One of my favorite quotes is "the genius of good communication is to be totally kind and totally honest at the same time." I repeat this quote often to remind myself how to approach teaching people how to treat me. If I do not tell the truth about what works for me, I cannot expect another person to honor and respect it. Learning to teach people how to treat us takes practice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You may still have folks who have been in your life for a long time who take advantage of you, treat you poorly, or are angry, abusive or violent. A habit has been established and they may like it a lot! Consider telling them the truth about how their behavior affects you and what changes would make the relationship feel more respectful and caring for you. Be both honest and kind. Be prepared to have to repeat this information consistently over time. It is sometimes "inconvenient" for these folks to remember that you have now stated your preferences. They may not want to change. Holding these boundaries also requires attention on your part. Once you have asked for the change, you must insist on it or consider giving up the relationship. Both of these tasks take positive self-esteem and self-confidence."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's taken me awhile, but I think I'm ready to ask for change and insist on it. No, I think I'm ready to demand it. I'm not sure I have the self-esteem or self-confidence to do that just yet, but I'm moving forward with or without it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-4040737688501563180?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/4040737688501563180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=4040737688501563180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4040737688501563180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/4040737688501563180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/04/choices.html' title='Choices'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-1024533008124879619</id><published>2008-04-11T11:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-11T11:51:10.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>she said it better</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just about the time the shadows call&lt;br /&gt;I undress my mind and dare you to follow&lt;br /&gt;Paint a portrait of my mystery&lt;br /&gt;Only close my eyes and you are here with me&lt;br /&gt;A nameless face to think I see&lt;br /&gt;To sit and watch the waves with me till they're gone&lt;br /&gt;A heart I'd swear I'd recognize is&lt;br /&gt;Made out ofmy own devices....&lt;br /&gt;Could I be wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time that I've taken&lt;br /&gt;I pray is not wasted&lt;br /&gt;Have I already tasted&lt;br /&gt;my piece of one sweet love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleepless nights you creep inside of me&lt;br /&gt;Paint your shadows on the breath that we share&lt;br /&gt;You take more than just my sanity&lt;br /&gt;You take my reason not to care.&lt;br /&gt;No ordinary wings I'll need&lt;br /&gt;The sky itself will carry me back to you&lt;br /&gt;The things I dream that I can do&lt;br /&gt;I'll open upThe moon for you&lt;br /&gt;Just come down soon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time that I've taken&lt;br /&gt;I pray is not wasted&lt;br /&gt;Have I already tasted&lt;br /&gt;My piece of one sweet love?&lt;br /&gt;Ready and waiting for a heart worth the breaking&lt;br /&gt;But I'd settle for an honest mistake in the name of&lt;br /&gt;One sweet love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Savor the sorrow to soften the pain sip on&lt;br /&gt;The southern rain&lt;br /&gt;As I do, I don't look don't touch don't do anything&lt;br /&gt;But hope that there is a you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The earth that is the space between,&lt;br /&gt;I'd banish it from under me...to get to you.&lt;br /&gt;Your unexpected love provides my solitary's&lt;br /&gt;Suicide...oh I wish I knew&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time that I've taken&lt;br /&gt;I pray is not wasted&lt;br /&gt;Have I already tasted my piece of one sweet love?&lt;br /&gt;Ready and waiting for a heart worth the breaking&lt;br /&gt;But I'd settle for an honest mistake in the name of&lt;br /&gt;One sweet love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(One Sweet Love&lt;/em&gt; by Sara Bareilles)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;these days.....she seems to say it better!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-1024533008124879619?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/1024533008124879619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=1024533008124879619' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/1024533008124879619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/1024533008124879619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/04/she-said-it-better.html' title='she said it better'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-5700145292280931404</id><published>2008-04-02T08:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T08:41:47.114-07:00</updated><title type='text'>new eyes</title><content type='html'>The past several days I've been experiencing this abnormal sense of peace. I don't mean that peace is abnormal, I just mean that it is abnormal for me lately. I'm also not saying that the peace of God is abnormal, but it is not a natural human emotion. I can say with certainty that it &lt;strong&gt;is &lt;/strong&gt;the peace of God that has begun to hold me in this tranquil state of rest. I can't explain it really, since my life is about to be in disarray once again and it would make total sense for me to start worrying and stewing over everything. This verse came to mind this morning and I read it with new eyes and began to see my life for what it is and how it is.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Give your entire attention to what God is doing&lt;u&gt; right now&lt;/u&gt;, and don't get worked up about &lt;u&gt;what may or may not happen tomorrow&lt;/u&gt;. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up &lt;u&gt;when the time comes&lt;/u&gt;." Matt. 6:34 (The Message)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had other experiences in my life where I have been called (sometimes forced) to depend on and trust in the Lord. This time is no different. I don't know where I'll be living in two weeks, but I do know that "God will help [me] deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's real peace in that concept; real Peace and unexplainable Freedom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-5700145292280931404?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/5700145292280931404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=5700145292280931404' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5700145292280931404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5700145292280931404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/04/new-eyes.html' title='new eyes'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-6014078280280260964</id><published>2008-03-19T06:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T07:48:40.331-07:00</updated><title type='text'>down time</title><content type='html'>sometimes it's so easy to advise others on how they should react to situations and circumstances in their lives, but when it's my turn to do the same - there's some sort of disconnect. it's easy to tell someone that God is in control and you can trust Him, but how many times am I, personally, so quick to forget that.  i find all kinds of reasons to rationalize my fear and lack of trust, none of which are beyond the control of my Father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows where i am because He has lead me here.&lt;br /&gt;He knows the intricate details of my situation because He has orchestrated them all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows and He cares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;even when I don't know anything, He knows it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and I &lt;strong&gt;can&lt;/strong&gt; trust Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It's our handle on what we can't see." ~Heb. 11:1-2&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-6014078280280260964?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/6014078280280260964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=6014078280280260964' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6014078280280260964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6014078280280260964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/03/down-time.html' title='down time'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3520766700675947573</id><published>2008-03-10T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T09:44:04.245-07:00</updated><title type='text'>springing forward</title><content type='html'>william williet was an outdoorsmen. he would get up every morning and go for a horseback ride before breakfast. apparently, on one of these rides, he was bothered by the fact that everyone else in london was asleep, while he was enjoying the sunrise on the back of his horse. his frustration only grew when he was continually forced to cut his golf games short because of dusk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so, what did he do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he proposed that the clock be set forward an hour during the summer months, so that everyone around him would wake up early and see the sun rise and so that he could play a full 18 holes in the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if i had been aquainted with william williet in the early 1900's and been present when his proposal was made, i might have taken a 9 iron and knocked him out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3520766700675947573?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3520766700675947573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3520766700675947573' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3520766700675947573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3520766700675947573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/03/springing-forward.html' title='springing forward'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-632892494927992520</id><published>2008-03-05T05:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T07:16:30.815-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a song</title><content type='html'>there are few things in this world that can speak straight to my heart and soul the way that a piece of music does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;there are times when a simple melody line can just resonate with my spirit. a seemingly basic combination of notes played softly on a piano can capture me in an instant. it almost transports me to a place where words aren't necessary; a place where conversations are had and emotions are expressed without ever speaking a word. oh, to live in such a place!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;then there are times when i hear a song and don't even really hear the music because of the truth and raw emotion that is conveyed in the lyrics. someone's heart has been translated onto paper and spoken aloud. sometimes you can hear the tears still falling in their words. sometimes you can actually hear the hurt. i envy those people who are capable and brave enough to pull back the curtain on their lives and allow the world to know their pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;some people like to compare our lives to stories.&lt;br /&gt;i choose to see my life as a song.&lt;br /&gt;the conflicts and resolutions are still there, as in a story.&lt;br /&gt;but only in a song are words not necessary.&lt;br /&gt;only in a song can you simply listen and know what's going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on days like today.....i don't want to talk.&lt;br /&gt;i just want to sit here&lt;br /&gt;and know that&lt;br /&gt;someone is listening&lt;br /&gt;............and gets it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-632892494927992520?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/632892494927992520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=632892494927992520' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/632892494927992520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/632892494927992520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/03/song.html' title='a song'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2765806967553413988</id><published>2008-03-04T06:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T12:05:29.299-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the grapevine</title><content type='html'>On May 24, 1844, Samuel B. Morse introduced his telegraph to the world, via a line stretching from Washington to Baltimore. The telegraph radically changed communication between communities, due largly in part to the speed at which information could be shared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Around that same time, a new phrase was introduced into American culture. That phrase was "heard it through the grapevine", which was popularized by the Marvin Gaye song in 1968. "Heard it through the grapevine" provided an ironic comparison between the twisted stems of a grapevine and the straight lines of the telegraph that was rapidly spreading its way across America. To hear something through the grapevine was to learn of something informally and unofficially, by means of gossip and rumors. The usual implication is that the information was passed person to person, by word of mouth, usually confidentially among friends and colleagues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both the straight line telegraph and the "grapevine telegraph" were successful in passing information over long and short distances, although because the "grapevine telegraph" was used by individual to individual, the facts often became distorted and untruths reported (which mirrored the gnarled and contorted stems of a grapevine).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems that although the straight line telegraph has gone the way of the dinosaur, the "grapevine telegraph" is still in service, distorting facts and reporting untruths.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2765806967553413988?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2765806967553413988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2765806967553413988' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2765806967553413988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2765806967553413988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/03/grapevine.html' title='the grapevine'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-8854789089401765350</id><published>2008-02-29T10:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-29T12:39:32.344-08:00</updated><title type='text'>unsteady</title><content type='html'>my balance is off today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sometimes i feel like i'm walking a tight rope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;like i'm hundreds of feet above the ground,&lt;br /&gt;shakily placing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;foot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;front&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;of the other,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;simply hoping that i don't fall to my death. (and that's a metaphoric death).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;there are several things that threaten to throw me from my lofty perch and each must be combatted in the same way. the only way that i am able to refrain from the fall is by fixing my eyes on the other side. all of my attention and energy must be focused on the Certainty that lies at the other end of this rope. whether it is a person calling to me from below or my own insecurities calling to me from within, the Voice from the other side must be allowed to drown them all out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;simple choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;not so simple choosing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-8854789089401765350?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/8854789089401765350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=8854789089401765350' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8854789089401765350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/8854789089401765350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/02/unsteady.html' title='unsteady'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-5235773318210649494</id><published>2008-02-22T04:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T05:10:55.726-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Still got it!</title><content type='html'>So...I went and played basketball last night with some high school kids. It was me and four high school girls against a much taller, faster group of high school guys. Now granted they were all JV players, but still......they were too much for us to handle. Initially none of the girls wanted to play against them, but I was all for it. I mean, if you want to get better as a female athlete, play against guys. 9 times out of 10 you're gonna get beat, but all you need to do is compete and hold your own. So that's what we did. We won 1 out of the 3 games we played and we did pretty well, under the circumstances. It was a lot of fun. I really miss playing and I really miss that feeling of total exhaustion after you've gone hard for two hours. What I don't miss is getting elbowed in the face by a 6'2" black guy while you're trying to go get a rebound. That part I could do without. But then again.....this swollen part of my head reminds me that I'm not too old. I can still run!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-5235773318210649494?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/5235773318210649494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=5235773318210649494' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5235773318210649494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/5235773318210649494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/02/still-got-it.html' title='Still got it!'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-3566473633151506103</id><published>2008-02-20T04:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T10:32:23.186-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nuggets of Truth</title><content type='html'>There's a verse somewhere in the Bible that talks about truth being able to be found anywhere, meaning that truth is not limited to being exposed from behind the pulpit; that God can use anything and anyone to convey truth. Last night, He used a television show on the CW to speak truth right at me. Allow me to explain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;One Tree Hill&lt;/em&gt;. To most everyone else who watched that show last night, it was nothing more than an hour-long dramatic television show. I must admit, the new twist on the show since last season has completely sucked me back into watching every week. For those of you that don't watch, last year they had all graduated from high school and were off to college or into the real world. I wondered how they were going to make these "kids" look like they were recent high school graduates when they already looked like they had graduated from college. Then someone had the brilliant idea to simply fast forward all of their lives 4 years. Brilliant! The show is better than ever and full of four years worth of drama, which we've never seen. I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In last nights episode, Peyton Sawyer was professing her love to her best friend and ex-boyfriend, Lucas Scott who had recently proposed to his current girlfriend. Now a little over a year ago Lucas had proposed to Peyton, but she had asked him to wait til both of them had had a little more time to pursue their careers. Last night, she realized how wrong she had been in her response and was feeling unimaginable regret. After she told Lucas how she felt and how wrong she had been, he walked away from her and went back to his then-girlfriend, Lindsay. Obviously Peyton was heartbroken and trying desperately to figure out what to do now. She walks to the cemetary where her mother is buried and sits down in front of the the grave, with tears streaming, and begs her mother to speak to her somehow and tell her what to do. (I teared up at this point) Obviously she gets no audible response, but looks up to see a leaf fall from a nearby tree and drift to the grave of Lucas's Uncle Keith. It's then that she knows exactly what she has to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I know the fact that I can recount this whole episode fully opens me to ridicule, but I think I have to paint the picture for everyone else to feel the weight of the truth-speaking moment that follows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Peyton and Lucas. They've been best friends since the day Lucas moved to town eight years ago. They've been together on and off since then, never really getting the timing right, culminating in Lucas's rejected marriage proposal. And now somehow, Peyton has got to let go of the man that she has always loved. (Gah! Doesn't that just make you ache! And yes, I know these are fictional characters!) So, Peyton leaves the cemetary and goes to Lucas and has this one, final conversation about "everything"......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I love you, Luke! I think I have since the day we met. But today it struck me that the greatest act of love is sacrifice. That's what Keith did for your mom. He denied his feelings for her all those years so that he could be a good friend to her. And as much as it's gonna suck, I'm willing to do that for you. If that will make you truly happy then I'll do it, because I want you to be happy more than anything in the world!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"the greatest act of love is sacrifice" &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It didn't take a television show to show the love of Christ to me, but last night it took a television show to remind me of the love of Christ for me. It also took that same show to reaffirm to me that love is not self-serving. Love is self-sacrificing. Love means giving up what you want and need for someone else, giving up yourself for another. I want to show that kind of love to others and I want to be loved that way in return. After all, we've got the greatest possible example to learn from. Don't we?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-3566473633151506103?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/3566473633151506103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=3566473633151506103' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3566473633151506103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/3566473633151506103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/02/nuggets-of-truth.html' title='Nuggets of Truth'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-6889480512867022326</id><published>2008-02-12T11:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T20:33:43.013-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cannonball!</title><content type='html'>I have been meaning to post for the past several weeks, but had somehow managed to forget my password. It's not like that's that hard to believe since I have close to ten separate usernames and passwords for various things. It would be easier if you could use the same one for everything, but that's neither very smart or allowed. Stupid, really!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that said......here's what I've got:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been told for years about this intimidating and confident aura that I seem to exhude, and for the life of me I'm not sure how I continue to pull that off. Regardless, that's what people see when they look at me. It doesn't matter if I feel anything but confident. We've all got our insecurities and fears. I guess I just do a good job of hiding them. Yay me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a fairly confident person, but there has been one thing for the past several years that has literally scared that crap out of me and that's the idea of owning my own home. I'm not sure why. That's not true. I know exactly why, and despite how invalid my fears are they are very real to me. However, my recent "choice" to start over has prompted a need to conquer all the fears that are encompassed in that decision. So....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm buying a house. I'm not sure where, but I've made the first step and am moving forward with an unusual peace that this is the right thing for me to do. I'm tired of moving. I'm tired of feeling displaced. And I'm tired of waiting for my fears to subside. I think it was Julie Andrews, in &lt;em&gt;The Sound of Music,&lt;/em&gt; that said, "You can't run from your problems. You've got to jump right in and face them!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here goes nothing.......I'm jumpin' in!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-6889480512867022326?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/6889480512867022326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=6889480512867022326' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6889480512867022326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/6889480512867022326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/02/canonball.html' title='Cannonball!'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-2289142186123402507</id><published>2008-01-29T08:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-29T09:39:06.331-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Commencement</title><content type='html'>Starting over is never easy.&lt;br /&gt;It requires you to begin again;&lt;br /&gt;to leave&lt;br /&gt;somewhere/something comfortable and&lt;br /&gt;put yourself&lt;br /&gt;in a place of&lt;br /&gt;uncertainty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I am not an avid fan of starting over, I do understand the necessity of it.&lt;br /&gt;There are times when we have no choice in the matter; times when it is decided for us.&lt;br /&gt;There are times when we have no other choice but to start over; times when it is our only option.&lt;br /&gt;And there are times when we simply want to begin again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't say what time this is for me.&lt;br /&gt;Part of me feels like I have no choice; as if someone else is calling the shots.&lt;br /&gt;Part of me feels this is the only possible course of action; like the alternative could destroy me.&lt;br /&gt;And part of me wants so desperately to begin again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am.&lt;br /&gt;Forced or willing.......here I am, starting over.&lt;br /&gt;The problem lies in those memories... pregnant with hope.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-2289142186123402507?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/2289142186123402507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=2289142186123402507' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2289142186123402507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/2289142186123402507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/01/commencement.html' title='Commencement'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5383882497238553647.post-103381529053066900</id><published>2008-01-17T11:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T11:22:57.463-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow Day</title><content type='html'>There's snow outside, which is a once-a-year experience here in South Carolina. Having spent the majority of my life in a part of the country that spends all Winter covered in white, I guess you could say I'm pretty cynical about snow. Granted there are worse things to be cynical about, but I've got to say that this time around I've somehow gathered a new-found appreciation for snow. Go figure.I&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; can remember building snowmen in the front yard for hours, until my gloves were soaked through and my hands had begun to go numb and turn a bright shade of red; or driving to school, after a 2-hour delay, and keeping two wheels in the ditch to keep from sliding all over the place; and those unforgettable treks across the campus at Indiana Wesleyan, where you finally sat down in the classroom only to find that your hair was frozen solid and that the wind had literally cut your face. Those are the memories that I associate with Winter &amp;amp; snow. It's kind of sad, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I moved here and everyone has this childlike wonder and infatuation with snow. All it takes is for the local meteorologist to mention the words "snow" or "winter storm" and the entire state goes into panice mode, bombarding every grocery store to stock up on the essentials, which oddly enough always consists of milk &amp;amp; bread. They don't even stop to listen to the remainder of the forcast in which they predict a mere 1 inch of wet snow. They simply grab the keys, hit the local Bi-Lo and hope that schools will be cancelled. I still find this very entertaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this morning as I was driving to work, with the 4 other "brave" souls on the roads, I began to see the beauty in the world of white. There really is something hopeful about a landscape completely covered with snow; everything is clean; everything is new. It hit me today just how exciting that can be. It's almost as if everything starts over, from scratch, with a clean slate. I've chosen to overlook the muddy, slushy mess that inevitabley follows, strictly for selfish reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today, amidst the whiteness, I choose to see the hope in starting over. I want to begin again, covering everything underneath, to let the newness of today and potential of tomorrow inspire my spirit and encourage my heart. I gotta say, today.....I love snow!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5383882497238553647-103381529053066900?l=rebekahanndean.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/feeds/103381529053066900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5383882497238553647&amp;postID=103381529053066900' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/103381529053066900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5383882497238553647/posts/default/103381529053066900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rebekahanndean.blogspot.com/2008/01/snow-day.html' title='Snow Day'/><author><name>Beka Dean</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07157652526903580578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_EkPmGyf-aKI/SHTO0hBup0I/AAAAAAAAACY/4AHDrXvjp1o/S220/July+08+049.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
