<?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-140006166304416355</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:07:16.497-08:00</updated><category term='hearts'/><category term='beginnings'/><category term='real love'/><category term='babies'/><category term='memories'/><category term='I am a Promise'/><category term='scars'/><category term='Christmas'/><category term='Gifts'/><category term='family'/><category term='heaven'/><category term='point of view'/><category term='Jesus'/><category term='fiance'/><category term='young and stupid'/><category term='love'/><category term='phone calls'/><category term='grandpa'/><title type='text'>Reality as I know it</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-496551248036135742</id><published>2011-12-20T13:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T13:55:59.563-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gifts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><title type='text'>The Best Christmas Presents</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;In this season of gift giving and all around general merriment, I've found myself overwhelmed and feeling a little less than merry for a number of reasons. I took a few moments today to look at the things that seem to make me the most frustrated. Then I took a few more to look at things that make me the most happy and feel the most love on this earth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jhKD8OoAQ5I/TvD3dLF7Q1I/AAAAAAAAACQ/He_WWo2vqK0/s1600/Liz+%2526+Sue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="259" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jhKD8OoAQ5I/TvD3dLF7Q1I/AAAAAAAAACQ/He_WWo2vqK0/s320/Liz+%2526+Sue.png" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jhKD8OoAQ5I/TvD3dLF7Q1I/AAAAAAAAACQ/He_WWo2vqK0/s1600/Liz+%2526+Sue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cXBq9CLSfnw/TvD3bY1pQ8I/AAAAAAAAACI/44PBM_OEGb0/s1600/Liz+%2526+Kelly.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="232" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cXBq9CLSfnw/TvD3bY1pQ8I/AAAAAAAAACI/44PBM_OEGb0/s320/Liz+%2526+Kelly.png" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jhKD8OoAQ5I/TvD3dLF7Q1I/AAAAAAAAACQ/He_WWo2vqK0/s1600/Liz+%2526+Sue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BZyOX-Qfq14/TvD3ZnK9-uI/AAAAAAAAACA/JjiltbUXv2A/s320/Liz+%2526+Jenn.png" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Friends that make me laugh!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J893lEL07rE/TvEAnvzBPSI/AAAAAAAAADI/jiFkiPlnbzk/s1600/Ashli+%2526+Chelsea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="313" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J893lEL07rE/TvEAnvzBPSI/AAAAAAAAADI/jiFkiPlnbzk/s320/Ashli+%2526+Chelsea.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JCrs5KrZ_ig/TvEAqIADF9I/AAAAAAAAADQ/PH_OioTpq7A/s1600/Camden+%2526+Dakota.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JCrs5KrZ_ig/TvEAqIADF9I/AAAAAAAAADQ/PH_OioTpq7A/s320/Camden+%2526+Dakota.jpg" width="276" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pO7la7QTLI0/TvEA28P8XZI/AAAAAAAAADY/Daw_qvo2pC0/s1600/family808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pO7la7QTLI0/TvEA28P8XZI/AAAAAAAAADY/Daw_qvo2pC0/s320/family808.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WOZnc4KQghc/TvD5iIiLVzI/AAAAAAAAACo/ZQUR3lpwsk0/s1600/family508edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="223" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WOZnc4KQghc/TvD5iIiLVzI/AAAAAAAAACo/ZQUR3lpwsk0/s320/family508edit.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iJzYqrXcS60/TvD5TbG2uCI/AAAAAAAAACY/Q1khS_KHa2Y/s1600/DSCF8737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iJzYqrXcS60/TvD5TbG2uCI/AAAAAAAAACY/Q1khS_KHa2Y/s320/DSCF8737.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ce9T8tt73I/TvD5hIEtH5I/AAAAAAAAACg/iPZVWzcQaNg/s1600/family708edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ce9T8tt73I/TvD5hIEtH5I/AAAAAAAAACg/iPZVWzcQaNg/s320/family708edit.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Family I am insanely and ridiculously proud of&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TeMt68AqGKk/TvD8YYfl2OI/AAAAAAAAADA/S4iyYBHBwag/s1600/liz%2526+jimmy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="267" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TeMt68AqGKk/TvD8YYfl2OI/AAAAAAAAADA/S4iyYBHBwag/s320/liz%2526+jimmy.png" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7W-iUyKkLuA/TvD59WotGaI/AAAAAAAAAC4/isgrcCkq6Fs/s1600/studious.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="276" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7W-iUyKkLuA/TvD59WotGaI/AAAAAAAAAC4/isgrcCkq6Fs/s320/studious.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WbFrPoXXTVc/TvD5rfFvM1I/AAAAAAAAACw/uGAyqemYDWI/s1600/invite+photosmaller.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WbFrPoXXTVc/TvD5rfFvM1I/AAAAAAAAACw/uGAyqemYDWI/s320/invite+photosmaller.JPG" width="213" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;A love who stands by me through all the insanity we call our lives.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;These are the things that are the most important. They far outweigh the things that frustrate even though they may be there every day. Of course none of these are as important as &lt;a href="http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/12/everything-changed.html"&gt;that baby that changed everything&lt;/a&gt;. Merry Christmas and may you always remember what is most important.&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/140006166304416355-496551248036135742?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/496551248036135742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/12/best-christmas-presents.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/496551248036135742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/496551248036135742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/12/best-christmas-presents.html' title='The Best Christmas Presents'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jhKD8OoAQ5I/TvD3dLF7Q1I/AAAAAAAAACQ/He_WWo2vqK0/s72-c/Liz+%2526+Sue.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-4755694112678836350</id><published>2011-08-25T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-25T16:29:25.018-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jesus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='point of view'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beginnings'/><title type='text'>New Beginnings</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I know, I know... it's been entirely too long since I last blogged. Hopefully the following will somewhat explain why. Bottom line? I just haven't had time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Life for us has changed dramatically in the last 3 months. Jimmy and I have taken on new ministry opportunities that have changed the way we have functioned since we got married. In case you don't know, we are joining with my parents in a ministry the Lord gave my dad over 20 years ago, &lt;a href="http://www.thebreakfastclubonline.com/"&gt;The Breakfast Club&lt;/a&gt;.&amp;nbsp;When the Lord gives you a direction to go, you have to go no matter what you feel. We knew in May it was what we were supposed to do. Since talking with my parents and making this decision, the Lord has been faithful to confirm it to us time and time again when our feeble minds begin to doubt. We have seen God do things in the last 3 months that I think even surprised my parents, including a great place to live! Every time He does something else, we sit back wondering why we questioned in the first place. His ways are so much higher than ours.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It has opened our eyes to the fact that much like our friends,&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.mylifeastheglue.com/"&gt;Rod &amp;amp; Kelly&lt;/a&gt;, we have to move literally and metaphorically. Therefore,&amp;nbsp;I daily find myself a myriad of emotions. I have times while in the middle of designing something (I deem fabulous haha) where I find myself completely overwhelmed, lonely, panicked or at complete peace. Sometimes all of them together and sometimes in the span of a 24 hour day. Sound crazy? It might be. The thing is, I probably am going to feel this every day for the next little while until we are settled into our new roles. The thing I keep hearing in my soul is, "Relax I've got this. I WILL take care of you." Thank goodness! If I had to do this myself, I wouldn't. It's not where my comfort lies. Yet that's how God gets us to the next level. The thing is, we have to be willing to set our fears, insecurities and pride aside and decide to follow His will. Remembering all the while that we may have to start over again. Not necessarily the beginning, but the &lt;u&gt;next&lt;/u&gt; beginning. That makes it a little easier in the process.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So we have started again. Adjusting things because whom God calls, He fully equips. We will still sing as McMillan &amp;amp; Life so don't worry. But we start into processes we haven't been a part of before. We take on responsibilities we haven't before. And we move somewhere we haven't lived together before. Scary and so exciting! More emotions at once.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/140006166304416355-4755694112678836350?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/4755694112678836350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/08/new-beginnings.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4755694112678836350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4755694112678836350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/08/new-beginnings.html' title='New Beginnings'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-4057262606358546324</id><published>2011-06-09T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-09T08:28:18.469-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scars'/><title type='text'>Scars</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I headed back to my doctor last week to find out how my knee was doing. All in all, quite good. The bone is healed. Just still having more pain in the muscle and tissue around it than I'd like. He says this is all normal so that's good enough to me. Still doing a lot of physical therapy to try and get it all mobile again. For those of you who have had to do physical therapy, you know how dramatically un-fun the process is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;The interesting thing to me was this. When you looked closely at the x-ray of my healed knee cap, you could still see the line through it. It looked like someone had drawn on my x-ray with a pencil. It will be like that for the rest of my life. At that point, the Lord revealed something to me. Sometimes our healing, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, leaves scars. To the vain, this would be unpleasant. But to the believer, it allows an opportunity to share with someone. It lets us have an opportunity to say, "Hey you see what God did for me? I've been in a similar place as you are now and can tell you that He will do it for you too. Don't believe me? Just check out my scar."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;The next time you are frustrated about that situation or scar that just won't go away, thank God. You have something people can see with either physical eyes or spiritual eyes that you can share about how great God is.&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/140006166304416355-4057262606358546324?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/4057262606358546324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/06/scars.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4057262606358546324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4057262606358546324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/06/scars.html' title='Scars'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-4819267653573635244</id><published>2011-05-20T16:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-20T16:49:36.462-07:00</updated><title type='text'>While I Wait</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;So I have ventured into my fifth week with this broken knee cap. I am trying to keep my chin up. But as I have stated before, my independent nature doesn't like being at the mercy of other people. Traveling in the motor home holds its own share of difficulties with my current condition. Getting around on crutches while moving is virtually impossible. Getting to "my side" of the bed can be treacherous. I can't get in and out of the shower without help and that is one of the worst parts for me. Getting in and out of the motor home in and of itself is a challenge that is met with only once a day. Twice at the complete outside and only if completely necessary.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;However in all of this, I've learned several different things. I've learned that it's ok to ask others for help and not feel completely guilty about it. Not that I would take advantage of this if I were able to do for myself. It's ok to say, "No I just can't do anymore." I have a horrible habit of saying "yes" and going until I'm practically sick. It's ok to rely less on me and more on Jimmy. (or sometimes Devin) But mainly, its ok to rely less on me and more on Him!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;There have been several obstacles that have come up in this last month besides my broken knee and car. I have sat back and said, "Ok God, I realize You want to teach me something but if you could let up just a bit, I'd be really grateful." Those are the times God tells me, "It's because I want you to quit relying on you and your ability." Which is something I already know but apparently need reminding of from time to time. &amp;nbsp;My ability is sorely lacking at the moment but in Him, it lacks incessantly in comparison. He is so much bigger than my small mind and abilities can imagine. Why do I even think about relying on myself?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;So while I wait, I'll keep on trying to imagine like I'm already home where I don't have to worry about such silly things. All I have to do is rest in the arms of One who loves me far more than I'm worth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/140006166304416355-4819267653573635244?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/4819267653573635244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/05/while-i-wait.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4819267653573635244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4819267653573635244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/05/while-i-wait.html' title='While I Wait'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-4141127019018576625</id><published>2011-04-28T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T11:19:40.830-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates and Interesting Signs</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WNn6dd5lB7Y/Tbmr2IgmlYI/AAAAAAAAAB0/ENyAaBVkW9w/s1600/Church+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WNn6dd5lB7Y/Tbmr2IgmlYI/AAAAAAAAAB0/ENyAaBVkW9w/s320/Church+sign.jpg" width="239" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"&gt;We drive to Lexington to see Jimmy's family several times a year and there is a church sign along our way that always grabs my attention but probably not for the reason this particular church would like. I thought I'd post it on here and let everyone see it. I've made the name of the actual church obscured for obvious reasons. I'm not going to share my personal opinions about it because if you know me, you know how I feel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #fce5cd;"&gt;As for my own personal well being, I'm still here, still have a broken knee but still listening. I'm amazed by God's blessings in the midst of all this. I'm grateful for a husband that is willing to help me by pretty much doing everything that requires movement and for being my own personal taxi. I'm grateful for friends who come to me since I can't get to them. I'm grateful because maybe these are the ways He is speaking to me now.&lt;/span&gt;&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/140006166304416355-4141127019018576625?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/4141127019018576625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/04/updates-and-interesting-signs.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4141127019018576625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4141127019018576625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/04/updates-and-interesting-signs.html' title='Updates and Interesting Signs'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WNn6dd5lB7Y/Tbmr2IgmlYI/AAAAAAAAAB0/ENyAaBVkW9w/s72-c/Church+sign.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-5491203396007889324</id><published>2011-04-18T11:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-18T15:44:14.511-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Broken Knees and Listening Ears</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Many of you know that I wrecked our car last week. I was not texting! I knew I had hurt my knee somehow but had no idea that I would end up with a fractured knee cap. I keep saying, "Who breaks their knee cap???" But clearly the answer is me and a surprising number of people that either I know or someone I know, knows. Fortunately at this point, its nothing more serious. Thank you Lord!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Koz-PaLxgX8/Taxt6eWi2qI/AAAAAAAAABs/kreYvOY_dWI/s1600/myknee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Koz-PaLxgX8/Taxt6eWi2qI/AAAAAAAAABs/kreYvOY_dWI/s320/myknee.jpg" width="263" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I'm just going to be honest... it hurts! A LOT!!! I pretend I'm tough because anything else makes me feel like a baby. I try not to take the pain medicine because it makes me so sleepy. My muscles around it are bothering me because I can't use them. I have a hard time doing anything. There is no waiting until the last minute to shower, get down the stairs or even go to the restroom. Everything takes much longer. It's a ten or fifteen minute process just to get out of bed.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I end up having some sort of emotional breakdown almost daily. Sometimes the breakdown is because I haven't taken enough of my pain medicine and the pain becomes overwhelming. Sometimes its because of my anxiety over the accident and surrounding issues. We have to find a new vehicle (although they haven't said yet that it's definitely totaled.) Of course, as most do, I have tremendous anxiety over the financial end of things. Sometimes its because I'm frustrated with all this. My frustration exists on several levels. I hate being in pain, as most people do. I get frustrated that my body won't let me do what it normally does. I hate feeling like an invalid! I hate the fact that Jimmy has to do everything for me. Or that if Jimmy and I are out somewhere, friends have to drive me home because I am in too much pain to stay. I need a pedicure or something but I can't reach my toes. I can't get a glass of water because I can't carry it back to where I was and work my crutches at the same time.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;The Lord is clearly teaching me to lean on Him more. I sure thought that I had done that the whole time. But obviously there is still part of me desiring to do things in and of myself. So as I sit here dependent on everyone else, I'm listening.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Don't worry about anything. Instead, tell God about everything. Ask and pray. Give thanks to Him. Then God's peace will watch over your hearts and your minds because you belong to Christ Jesus. God's peace can never be completely understood.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Phil. 4:6-7&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&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/140006166304416355-5491203396007889324?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/5491203396007889324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/04/broken-knees-and-listening-ears.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/5491203396007889324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/5491203396007889324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/04/broken-knees-and-listening-ears.html' title='Broken Knees and Listening Ears'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Koz-PaLxgX8/Taxt6eWi2qI/AAAAAAAAABs/kreYvOY_dWI/s72-c/myknee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-4238075067043054621</id><published>2011-02-08T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-08T07:30:59.727-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's Get Real</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Everyone has junk in their past that they aren't proud of. If you don't, then you must have lived an awfully sheltered existence. I'd be willing to bet, even you probably have something you regret. We are all afraid to let people know what it is, was, whatever. But that's just it... WE ALL HAVE SOMETHING! Why are some so quick to look down on someone else because that person's "something" is worse than their own personal "something?" It makes no sense to me.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;If you know anything about us, my husband especially, or the ministry of McMillan &amp;amp; Life, you know that we are brutally honest in concert. It isn't meant to make you feel bad for us but to let you know that we are real people with real problems and real pain. We have some real issues in our family these days. More than many of you know about. Some of the things that are going on we just don't feel we can share out of fear of it "getting out." Church people often disguise their gossip in "prayer requests." Because gossiping everyone knows is wrong but if we hide it in a prayer request then suddenly it becomes ok. You all know what I mean. You know when you are disguising it as a prayer request. I can sadly admit, I've been guilty of it before. By the grace of God, it's been a while.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I've been reading a book that I bought with the intention of giving it to someone else called, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;God in the Alley&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;. I wanted to make sure that it was going to speak to the person I bought it for like I hoped (sometimes you just can't tell all you want to from the liner on the back) so I wanted to read it first. I'm not through it all yet but I can tell you already that I am more aware already of the need to be real. &amp;nbsp;The writer talks about how he had a deeper desire to be a living example of Jesus to the world. In order to be Jesus to someone else, he felt that he had to be willing to see Jesus in them too. He saw Jesus in a man dying of AIDS who wasn't even a believer in Jesus but in a moment of helping to clean up this man who had soiled himself, the man began to pray blessings on him. That is truly a moment to see Jesus in someone else whether or not they are a believer. It also shows that the writer did in fact become a living example of Jesus to this man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;He felt God calling him to a place where he could really minister to the "spiritually unloved" of society. You know who I'm talking about... the ones we claim to Jesus and everyone in our church that we "love unconditionally." When in reality God knows that many, in their heart of hearts, when they think nobody is watching them, they shun because they are afraid it may infect their lives.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Those people to whom we say, "No of course I don't judge you, I just can't be around you."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;As though if they associate with the person who is a drug abuser, prostitute, alcoholic, (insert your inexcusable sin here) and dare I say, homosexual, the sin they have is contagious. Jesus fellowshipped with these people. Why do we feel like we shouldn't? I don't understand that. I have friends that know that I don't condone things in their lives (whatever those things may be) but they are still my friends. I don't have to condone everything someone does to love them as Jesus does. Jesus fellowshipped with the people that needed Him most.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Why do we put categories on sin when the Bible plainly states, "No sin is greater than another?"&amp;nbsp;Why is it that the above mentioned "sins" seem to carry so much more weight than someone who lies or "speaks evangelistically" because they want you to find them more successful than they truly are? These are just things that don't make sense to me if we ar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;e going to "be Jesus" to anyone. I certainly don't expect you to start walking up to people on the street admitting every time you lied or did something you knew in your gut was wrong. I do expect people to start being more aware of "the plank in your own eye," myself included.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I've heard my husband say many times that as the church, we are so quick to sink our own its no wonder people don't feel like they can be honest.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;If we can't be real to each other as christians and let someone know that there is junk in our lives that we need prayer for or even to forgive ourselves for, then how can we hope to win a lost world to a Savior who loves us more than all our junk?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;I desire to love people as I love God. I desire to be and see Jesus in others. I desire to share my prayer requests with people in a way that will make me vulnerable but not food for vultures. Dear Lord, I hope I am the kind of person I wish for? Can you be that person?&amp;nbsp;&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/140006166304416355-4238075067043054621?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/4238075067043054621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/02/lets-get-real.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4238075067043054621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/4238075067043054621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2011/02/lets-get-real.html' title='Let&apos;s Get Real'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-8462769609102176233</id><published>2010-12-24T10:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-24T10:50:44.607-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><title type='text'>Everything Changed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;We have heard Faith Hill and countless others sing &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;A Baby Changes Everything. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;There is also a song I just heard this week that says, "Heaven's exalted King, in a manger lay, because a baby came and &lt;i&gt;everything changed&lt;/i&gt;." I have often wondered what all would have gone through Mary and Joseph's minds on this night (as we celebrate it) over 2000 years ago. A new baby, new parents and your child is the Savior of the World. What an enormous responsibility on one so small. Did Mary cry? Did she wonder how long He would be able to just be her baby boy?&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;I am not a mother so its even more incomprehensible for me to begin to imagine how Mary felt for those 33 years Jesus was alive. But she also knew that He was called to be something more amazing than she could've dreamed possible.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;How long did Joseph question Mary's faithfulness to him? How long did he ask why he should have to raise a child that wasn't his before taking her as his wife?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Yet all of Heaven was singing, "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Gloria! Our God is with us!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Gloria! He has come to save!" I'm so glad His ways are higher than ours. If His weren't, this world would be a very discouraging place by my estimation. Even more discouraging that it already can be. I think of a young couple I recently heard about who had a baby a few days ago. The young mother ended up having cardiac arrest and passed away.&amp;nbsp;"W&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;hen our dreams grow dim and our hearts grow cold,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;He is never far from our broken soul."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;So many times we see "Jesus is the reason for the season." But how many times does it end up just being a slogan or catch phrase? Even to those of us who do know that its true? We can become so callous to the passion behind such a phrase if we aren't careful. This may be all very common place and not very profound and truthfully it's not. I can only tell you that I'm so glad that Baby changed everything for me. Merry Christmas to you and yours. May you always know that Baby that changed everything.&lt;/span&gt;&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/140006166304416355-8462769609102176233?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/8462769609102176233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/12/everything-changed.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/8462769609102176233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/8462769609102176233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/12/everything-changed.html' title='Everything Changed'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-8683960150448605791</id><published>2010-11-30T19:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-30T19:48:54.946-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jesus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='babies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hearts'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Pitiful Hearts &amp; Bigger Pictures</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I know, I know... it's been forever since I've blogged and frankly I just have no excuses. Today has just been one of those days. One of those days where I've been trying to not have a little pity party. Perhaps you are a better person than I and don't have days like that. Nothing necessarily spurred said party. Just woke up kind of down. Which is surprising seeing as this is one of my absolute favorite times of year. I love the holidays. I love time with family and friends. We had some friends over and I tried to pick my spirits up when I was around them but it just didn't change the fact that I felt pitiful.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Then I got online tonight and checked my email for a church that I do some graphics and layouts for remotely. I saw an email prayer request update for a little boy that was born 2 or 3 months ago. He was one of twin boys. One of the boys is, as far as I know, perfectly healthy. Then this little boy is having to undergo his third open heart surgery in thirteen days. His parents are desperately praying because he is going to need a heart transplant, most likely, in order to survive. They are praying for a touch from the Divine Healer. They are praying also for a family, who they don't know, who may lose a child that would be willing to donate that child's organs. They are praying already for the Divine Comforter to be a comfort to a family in time of pain.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Then I felt worse. Not for me, but because I am so blind sometimes with my "light and temporary trials." As I sit here, I'm reminded of something my mother said to me a thousand times. Something, I know, &amp;nbsp;her mother said to her. "Whatever you think is going wrong in your life always know, someone has it worse." The grief and pain of losing a child is something I am completely unable to comprehend. The pain of seeing your child hurt is something I can only imagine. I only know that my own little pity party was rained on by a family with a bigger need than mine. So even though I know, not everything in my world is how I want it to be, regardless of its trials (some that are much bigger than most know about), my heart and soul pray for a little boy that I've never met, a family I may never know to an Almighty God that's bigger than you and I.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/140006166304416355-8683960150448605791?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/8683960150448605791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/11/pitiful-hearts-bigger-pictures.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/8683960150448605791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/8683960150448605791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/11/pitiful-hearts-bigger-pictures.html' title='Pitiful Hearts &amp; Bigger Pictures'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-1669454924247468960</id><published>2010-10-28T08:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-28T08:22:34.676-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I am a Promise'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young and stupid'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='real love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fiance'/><title type='text'>I am a Pomise</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMmS9KO9yXI/AAAAAAAAABg/8tqrJ7pAudo/s1600/momandme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="209" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMmS9KO9yXI/AAAAAAAAABg/8tqrJ7pAudo/s320/momandme.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Most of you will look at the title and think I spelled it wrong. Technically, I did. But when I think of this old children's song, all I hear anymore is my friend's three-year-old little boy singing, "I am a Pomise. I am a possibility. I am a Pomise, with a tapital 'P.'" I love it! &amp;nbsp;It takes me back to myself singing it as a little girl. It may have just been me singing it in the mirror to my millions of adoring fans, alone in my room, into a hairbrush or barbie doll. But I know, even then, I knew it. My parents were wonderful about telling me that I could do anything I put my mind to and to my daddy, I would always be prettier than Miss USA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Fast forward fifteen to twenty years, you would have found me feeling beaten down by the social pressures of college and what was deemed as "acceptable beauty." Somehow, some way, the cutest boy in school was interested in me. He was a little older and quietly mysterious. I just knew that I had "hit the jackpot." He was amazingly talented, had been a boxer and a bit of a bad boy and was now sold-out to God. How could I have found someone better? He asked me to marry him and of course I said, "YES!" Less than a month after we were engaged, our relationship fell apart. He had a nervous breakdown. He was admitted to a hospital and his admitting diagnosis, so I was told, was paranoid schizophrenia. I sat there dumbfounded, wondering what had just happened. Looking back it was a total whirlwind of emotions, hurtful accusations, pain, countless apologies on every side imaginable, questioning God and me feeling more beaten down than I had ever been in my life. I couldn't figure out what I had done to have caused this because naturally I must have contributed. It left me destroyed. I couldn't even remember the little girl singing "I am a Pomise" anymore. I left school mid-semester and cowered in my room at home because I couldn't face the world. I went to therapists who sometimes hurt as much as the helped. I had confrontations with people I felt had done the most wrong to me. I stopped driving because I would end up places and have been so engrossed in my head that I couldn't figure out how I got there.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I read every book I could find that would encourage me. I read 2 that really did. The first one was by Sheila Walsh called "Honestly." In this book, she speaks very openly about her battle with depression. I can remember going through it and highlighting it every time I felt the same way. It seemed as if I highlighted most of the first half of the book. She described it by saying something to the effect of, it's like standing in front of a mountain that's crumbling and saying "don't do this" when you know there is nothing you can do to stop it. I remembering thinking, "Yes finally someone is saying how I feel." I can remember telling my mom, "If you want to know how I feel and what I'm going through in my head, read that book." I also remember the look on her face when she said, "I tried and I can't." It hurt her to know that I was so broken. I know that she and my dad had to be wondering how this could have happened because they worked so hard to be encouraging. A few people and a horrible situation had destroyed what they'd worked so hard to instill. I was a promise!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I then read a book, called "Water in the Wilderness" by T.D. Jakes. Based on Isaiah 35:6, he talks about how God is with you even in the wilderness. He talks about how the wilderness is a place of dying and a place where He can instruct us on what to do next. The wilderness is a place where all the things that cause you to stumble in your walk with God are killed. I knew that I was supposed to read this book. But I also knew I couldn't have read it and received what God was trying to tell me right away. This was probably a year after the initial, for lack of a better word, "drama" began. I kept praying and asking God, what is it that You are asking of me. FINALLY He spoke! "Elizabeth, you are dying to all things you thought you had to have to get through life. All you need is ME!"&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I'd love to tell you that things changed for me over night. That I woke up a stronger person, knowing once again that I was a promise. But the truth is, I didn't. Because this is a blog and not a novel, I will try to sum it up. I spent years destroyed, unsure of myself and incredibly lonely. I had moved to Nashville before I started to regain some sense of myself. I know I had my parents scared to death, living in a strange city with nobody but my brother (thank God for him). Eventually I started to remember that little girl in her room, singing to her millions of adoring fans in the mirror. Eventually I realized that I didn't need anybody but God to make me happy or complete. Eventually I even realized that I liked myself and thought I was, at least, a pretty cool person.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMmS04zIX7I/AAAAAAAAABc/b8SpTf9Oc1s/s1600/weddingkiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMmS04zIX7I/AAAAAAAAABc/b8SpTf9Oc1s/s320/weddingkiss.jpg" width="213" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Once I knew where my "complete-ness" was found, He gave me the other stuff. Not because I thought He had to, but because He wanted to. He knew my focus wouldn't shift from where it needed to be, on Him. I did get to marry another "cutest boy in school." Jimmy was the one that God designed just for me. God was preparing him differently than me. God knew when I was 31 that I was ready for him. Not the boy that I thought I was ready for when I was younger. God knew that I had to get the focus off of me. So He does what He has to do to get through to us, even though sometimes it hurts. Kind of sounds like a parent disciplining a child. I certainly don't mean to say that my life hasn't had its fair share of hardships. I know there will be some until the day I die, but that's what makes me want to go to Heaven. More than anything, I remember, "I am a Promise. I am a possibility..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;My "story" being out there now reminds me... I need to go clean. My mom will be here tomorrow. :)&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/140006166304416355-1669454924247468960?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/1669454924247468960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/i-am-pomise.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/1669454924247468960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/1669454924247468960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/i-am-pomise.html' title='I am a Pomise'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMmS9KO9yXI/AAAAAAAAABg/8tqrJ7pAudo/s72-c/momandme.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-3012646261387575594</id><published>2010-10-21T10:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-21T10:16:43.168-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grandpa'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heaven'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memories'/><title type='text'>3 Years Later</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMBwpGAcWSI/AAAAAAAAABU/77AUjYS43po/s1600/gpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMBwpGAcWSI/AAAAAAAAABU/77AUjYS43po/s320/gpa.jpg" width="306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;That day has rolled around again and it's 3 years since my grandpa went to live with Jesus. Sometimes I feel like I should not let it still get to me like this and yet when I think about what I'd say if someone said that to me, I find myself thinking, "You must not have known him." I know my grandpa is with my Uncle Bob and the rest of his family. They are probably looking down at us singing, "Wait 'til you see me in my new home!"&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande';"&gt;This was o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;riginally written October, 2008.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I still miss him and I just don't think I could write it any better than I did then.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;The little things that seemed so small,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;are now like gold in a memory vault&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;I cherish every one I have with you&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Now I can see and recognize&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;the part you played to shape my life&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;I often see you in the things I do...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;I sure miss you;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;life will never be the same&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;with you not here&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;Each passing day has brought much pain&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;But with God's grace my strength remains&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;I sure miss you, but heaven's sweeter&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;with you there&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;-- "I Sure Miss You" Crabb Family&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Today is one year since my grandpa passed away.&amp;nbsp;It doesn't seem possible that the time has gone that quickly.&amp;nbsp;There are days when it's ok and there are days when it feels like it was yesterday.&amp;nbsp;There are nights that I get up and sing "What Heaven Means to Me" and it seems like I can actually hear him standing next to me singing, "What will it be when we get over yonder…" It makes my heart ache.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;The words to the song "I Sure Miss You" by the Crabb Family have become more poignant to me in the last year, specifically the second verse. "The little things that seemed so small are now gold in a memory vault. I cherish every one I have of you." My grandpa, every time I sang that he was there, would always tell me, "Honey you did a good job.&amp;nbsp;I'm proud of ya."&amp;nbsp;He always emphasized the word "good" in a very specific way as he shook his head.&amp;nbsp;I am so grateful for those memories.&amp;nbsp;He even said it when I had cried through a song more than I sang it. Nobody understood the calling on my life or what it actually means like he did.&amp;nbsp;He did what I do… traveling, singing, ministering with the Blackwoods and then with the Toney Brothers.&amp;nbsp;He was ALWAYS in my corner.&amp;nbsp;He always knew what I was going to do because I believe he saw in me what he knew in himself.&amp;nbsp;"Now I can see and recognize the part you played to shape my life. I often see you in the things I do."&amp;nbsp;He would sit and tell me, and everybody who would listen, stories about when he was singing or just about his life in general;&amp;nbsp;traveling with the Blackwoods in his suit, in a car, suitcases under their feet in the backseat (and we think we have it hard…) for hours to go sing; when he was little and living on the farm in Wilson’s Creek, West Virginia; how his mom died when he was only 18 and he had to come home from boot camp to go to her funeral; how he fought in the Battle of the Bulge; (watch Saving Private Ryan and you will see what he went through) how on a Father's Day when he was older, the Toney Brothers were singing in West Virginia and their dad got saved; how that same man was the one who taught them to sing shape notes. (He tried to teach me one time, I still don't know how)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;There are so many things I could never forget. Being little and going over to their house in Michigan and climbing up on his lap because he had made cornbread and milk and I just knew he would give me a bite. "Interviewing" him when I was either in 5thor 6thgrade on a report I had to do on Veteran's Day. The day he walked into the kitchen at Durango Steakhouse because it was taking so long and saying to someone, "Uh what seems to be the problem back here?" Him completely making up a new verse to "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem" one year at a Christmas concert and if you didn't know, you would've NEVER guessed!&amp;nbsp;"I love you so bad…" (I know it originated with Lisa but he was the one that said it to me)&amp;nbsp;That night in his hospital room… him telling all of us individually how much he loved us and saying to me over and over, "Thank you for singing with me."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I recently heard Pastor Willy Rice of Calvary Baptist Church in Clearwater, FL in a sermon on grief say, "People always think they are saying the right thing when they say, 'You can't miss someone if you know where they are' but you can.&amp;nbsp;Everyone's grief is different…. Just because it's been a year for someone and you think they should be over it, doesn't mean that they are.&amp;nbsp;And it doesn't mean something is wrong if they aren't."&amp;nbsp;Thanks for indulging me in my grief a little.&amp;nbsp;It will get easier I know, but today… "I sure miss you; life will never be the same with you not here…"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Alden K. Toney – Dec. 1921-Oct. 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Tahoma, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 12px;"&gt;&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/140006166304416355-3012646261387575594?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/3012646261387575594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/3-years-later.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/3012646261387575594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/3012646261387575594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/3-years-later.html' title='3 Years Later'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TMBwpGAcWSI/AAAAAAAAABU/77AUjYS43po/s72-c/gpa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-675230296188917274</id><published>2010-10-19T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-19T11:30:53.286-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Always something</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;So there we were, sailing smoothly up I 65 on Friday morning. We were headed to a date in Indianapolis. I don't know what would've possibly had all of our attention for that brief second, but the next thing we knew there were tail lights as bright and red as Rudolph's nose stringing out for miles in front of us. There was no sound except squealing tires and me praying that Jesus help us. Jimmy swerved our 36 foot motor home off to the shoulder and Jesus kept us from hitting anyone else or from rolling down the bank next to us. I don't think any of us even breathed for that entire sixty seconds. We finally got stopped what seemed like miles down the road. The reality is it was less than half a mile. Once we got stopped, Jimmy realized the power steering and the brakes weren't working at all. So we were a tad stuck on the side of the road, adding to the back up that was already there. Jimmy called Good Sam. (side note: if you have an RV of any kind, get Good Sam. It's so worth it!) Good Sam unfortunately let us know that since it was Friday, they couldn't find anyone that was an approved repair person to work on it until Wednesday.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Wednesday??? Don't they know what we do? We work on the weekends. We were leaving on a 10-day trip. Wednesday? Oh Jesus please help us! This can't be right.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Upon my return to reality from my brief breakdown, I remembered Romans 8:28 and knew there must be a reason for all this. Maybe He was sparing us from some horrible breakdown later. Maybe He was sparing us from some awful, discouraging thing we would have encountered if we continued as planned. Maybe He just wanted us to rest knowing He had it under control. Maybe someday we will know what He spared us from and maybe we never will. I still KNOW there was and is a reason.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;We eventually got off the highway. We had dinner at a greasy diner where we were afraid they may try to steal our teeth.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;The world’s biggest pass-the-buck tow truck driver towed us to the repair place&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;. That's a separate story in and of itself. We missed our date in Indianapolis. But then we were thankful.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;We thanked God we were safe and so were the others in our damage path.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;We thanked God for friends like Jeff Duffield, who drove from Nashville to Bowling Green, KY to pick us up and take us back home to get a vehicle. We thanked God that Devin has a vehicle that is big enough to let us take everything we needed to do our dates on Sunday. We thanked Him for family that let us stay with them Saturday and Sunday so we didn't miss our dates for Sunday.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;We are anxious as to what the repair bill will cost.&amp;nbsp;We are thankful for the so-called "glamorous life" that we have.&amp;nbsp;We know that the devil fights the threats to him so we are grateful to be a threat. We are thankful for the ministry to which we have been called.&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/140006166304416355-675230296188917274?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/675230296188917274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/always-something.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/675230296188917274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/675230296188917274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/always-something.html' title='Always something'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-6986581374587412547</id><published>2010-10-13T13:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T13:57:03.286-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I think we are always learning. No matter how old you are or how much you think you already "know," there will always be someone or something with a different take on whatever is going on. Sometimes they may make you re-evaluate your position on said "going on" and sometimes they may make you mad. But there will always be something. I am always tickled by the "know-it-all" types. I know I was one in my younger, naturally more intelligent years. But it always tickles me (irks me a little too) when someone asks what you think or feel on a subject and then proceeds with a million opinions as to why you are wrong, wrong, WRONG. I have never been one that always agreed with everyone and sometimes I ask questions some may feel are invasive or whatever. But my motive has never been about an argument or a need to be right. Sometimes I am simply curious as to why you feel like you do. I may have another view point that may help you see it differently and vice versa.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Jimmy and I have situations where people keep saying that they are "learning from their mistakes" and yet they continue to display that this is mere rhetoric. It makes me think of the commonly told definition of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. If someone can help you and you keep reliving the same drama over and over, why not listen to what someone else may have to say?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I was recently very inspired by an excerpt I read from Gloria Gaither's book &lt;i&gt;Decisions&lt;/i&gt;. I just thought I'd share it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;"To learn, you must want to be taught...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I think it was Mark Twain, Grandma Moses, or someone equally perceptive who said, 'Learn from the mistakes of others: you can't live long enough to make all the mistakes yourself.' Anyway, that statement is one of the lessons life works hard at teaching us all.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;No matter how efficient, smart, or independent we happen to think ourselves to be, sooner or later we run into a 'brick wall' that our intelligence or experience cannot handle for us. We can fake it, avoid it, or blunder through it. But a better solution would be to find someone who has walked that way before and has gained some wisdom from the experience."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Do you want to be taught or do you just want to be right and blunder through making the same mistakes over and over?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/140006166304416355-6986581374587412547?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/6986581374587412547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/learning.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/6986581374587412547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/6986581374587412547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/10/learning.html' title='Learning...'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-8150475849300957939</id><published>2010-09-28T15:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-29T10:58:05.458-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jesus'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='phone calls'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><title type='text'>Like Mary</title><content type='html'>&lt;h2 id="passage_heading" style="font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Luke 10:40-42&amp;nbsp;(NASB)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;div class="result-text-style-normal"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;But&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Martha was distracted with all her preparations; and she came up to Him and said, "Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to do all the serving alone? Then tell her to help me."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;But the Lord answered and said to her, "&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Martha, Martha, you are&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;worried and bothered about so many things;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;but only one thing is necessary, for&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I spent much of the last week thinking about what I would write next on here. I kept feeling in my heart that I just wanted to hear His voice, hear Him speak to me and tell me what to do next. So many times I feel like Martha. I am so busy "doing"... stuff for the group, for my friends or family,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;for my clients&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;. All the things that pull me in a million different directions. I get so caught up in the "doing," I forget to make time for the "listening" or "basking." Often because I feel like I don't have any time left. Each day is so full of all the things that "need to be done." How many of us are exactly the same way? I'm calling myself out... nobody else... and yet I know that many, if not most, people I know, are in the same cycle I am. Clamoring about, making preparations, not understanding why He doesn't say SOMETHING... ANYTHING! We feel lost and alone, an&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;d often lonely. (understanding that alone and lonely aren't necessarily equivalent.) I just want to be Mary for a while.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I want to, not just find the time but, MAKE the time to listen to Him. Make the time to give Him an opportunity to speak to me. Take the time to speak to Him. Not that I don't pray or speak to Him at all, but I do know that I should take more time than I do.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;When I first met Jimmy, I couldn't wait for him to call me. I wouldn't call him until after we got engaged. I wanted him to WANT to talk to me, so I would wait. The phone would finally ring with the special ring that I had given him and my heart would leap into my chest. I can still vividly remember the day he called me before I went in to sing one night. I can remember where I was and where I was sitting in that big, brown, Eagle bus I traveled in. He said, "I couldn't wait until later to hear your voice." I smile every time I think about that. I still smile when I hear his ring. And to know that God feels that way about me and wants to speak to me more than I probably allow is wonderful and terrible all at the same time. It's so unbelievable that He gives me such amazing memories about my husband. It's so wonderful to know He feels just like that about me. It's terrible to know and realize the amount of times I've let Him down or missed His "call."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;I just want to be Mary for a while. Correction... I NEED to be Mary for a while.&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/140006166304416355-8150475849300957939?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/8150475849300957939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/09/like-mary.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/8150475849300957939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/8150475849300957939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/09/like-mary.html' title='Like Mary'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140006166304416355.post-7389088152461093929</id><published>2010-09-21T13:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-21T13:49:24.323-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='point of view'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beginnings'/><title type='text'>What to say...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;Jimmy is known to be the writer between the two of us. But sometimes, I have things I want to say. Whether they are out of serious contemplation in my own heart and mind or serious irritation with what or whomever, will remain to be seen. I just feel like I sit in the background a bit sometimes with things and have decided to make a concerted effort to change that. Jimmy says I can be very wise so I guess I can throw it out to an unsuspecting public and see if it's true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"&gt;A dear friend recently said to me during a conversation, "God only gives you what He knows He can trust you with." Basically, in context of the conversation, it was Matthew 25:23b "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things." We have recently been at an event where it seems there are so many aspiring to the "next big thing." Whether it be the next big concert or number one song or bigger, better bus. Yes I'd be lying to say I wasn't interested in that possibility. Who wouldn't want their song to go number one? And yet all the while I kept thinking, "If that is your focus, then what is the point?" I have said to numerous people who dream of doing what I do, "You can't love singing enough. It has to be a calling." If your only point is the success as the world sees it, then I say, stop now. It's too hard. There are too many times that dates fall through. There are too many times that the truck, motorhome or bus will break down. There are too many times when the church people or even the pastor of where you are singing doesn't really want you there. They just came to claim their pew. Too many times when there is more "love" than "offering." There are too many times when the ultimate reward is in Heaven. If your eyes are on the earth, its just too hard.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;But when its a calling from God, its something entirely different. The calling I have is about reaching a lost world for Him. It's about letting people know they are &lt;u&gt;never&lt;/u&gt; too far away to just simply turn around and He is there. It's about letting someone know, they aren't the only person in the world who has experienced what they may be going through. And sometimes I am the one that gets encouraged because you remind me that I'm not the only one. THAT is the point for me! God is able, as Jimmy says night after night, to wrap His arms around ANYTHING that we can hand Him! All the number one songs and bigger buses can do NOTHING to change that fact. If that is where your focus is then at what point does God have the ability to say, "Yes, you were faithful over the small things so I will give you the bigger that you want." Do you have stars in your eyes and interested in the bigger better thing? If so, then when exactly do you expect God to trust you with more?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;Now this may sound very critical. I have just been thinking lately on a lot of things. Maybe, checking myself would be a better way to put it. I have discovered something. As far as this world goes, I have a wonderful husband, comfortable place to live, great family (in spite of imperfection) I get to do what I love to do and I have something safe to travel and do that in. But in God's eyes, I'm not content! There are things that you have to know. I want you to know that He loves you more than you can begin to imagine. I want you to know that you may have done things that seem unforgivable and yet, He does! I want you to know that the junk you are going through right now is shaping who you are and what your testimony will be later. I want you to know that He is there even when you feel alone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"&gt;This is probably a bit heavy for a first posting but this is my "reality." My reality is that sometimes life is serious and sometimes it's funny. Sometimes life is heavy and sometimes it's light. Sometimes you just have to decide what the point is for you. Where is your focus? What is your point?&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/140006166304416355-7389088152461093929?l=lizmcmillan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/feeds/7389088152461093929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/09/what-to-say.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/7389088152461093929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/140006166304416355/posts/default/7389088152461093929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lizmcmillan.blogspot.com/2010/09/what-to-say.html' title='What to say...'/><author><name>Liz McMillan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01067234669991118972</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_clcTXrMIKlM/TJjwrUDKXBI/AAAAAAAAAAQ/_4inhgv4YX0/S220/lizwide.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
