Last night I read an article my friend Shelli Rehmert shared on her Facebook Wall. It was a very welcome story of survival from the Colorado Massacre last week, but as I read, I soon discovered that it was far more than just a story of survival. It was a full-fledged, bonafide miracle. And very well-written, to boot. I thought I'd share. I hope this encourages you, and makes your day brighter.
~I Love you all sooooo much!! XXOO
CLICK HERE TO READ THE ARTICLE
Showing posts with label People Who Inspire Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People Who Inspire Me. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
So, what do we do about the worldwide refugee issue?
Today is World Refugee Day. The theme for 2012 is: Refugees have no choice. You do.
Many of us have no idea what it is like to be forced to flee our home, due to the risk of being killed. To have to take our children with only the things we can carry, and leave, on foot. Risking rape, kidnapping, and starvation on our way to safety.
There are over 43.7 million refugees worldwide who have had to experience this, and are currently displaced. Forty-three point seven million people. Right now.
You can learn more here.
Or, if you'd prefer information from a Christian standpoint, you can find it here.
I really hope you take a minute to get informed. Surf the Web, and see all that has been going on today, in honor of the hurting who are so desperately in need of our help. It isn't their problem. It's our problem.
If you are interested in getting involved somehow, let me know. I am open to working alongside others who know, like me, that they can't do it all, but believe that together, we can get something done.
Many of us have no idea what it is like to be forced to flee our home, due to the risk of being killed. To have to take our children with only the things we can carry, and leave, on foot. Risking rape, kidnapping, and starvation on our way to safety.
There are over 43.7 million refugees worldwide who have had to experience this, and are currently displaced. Forty-three point seven million people. Right now.
You can learn more here.
Or, if you'd prefer information from a Christian standpoint, you can find it here.
I really hope you take a minute to get informed. Surf the Web, and see all that has been going on today, in honor of the hurting who are so desperately in need of our help. It isn't their problem. It's our problem.
If you are interested in getting involved somehow, let me know. I am open to working alongside others who know, like me, that they can't do it all, but believe that together, we can get something done.
Monday, June 18, 2012
The Kids Rock! Event
Last weekend Hugo and I took Lee, and my Life Friend Amy who was visiting from North Carolina, to Hancock Park in Downtown LA for the Kids Rock! Music and Eco Fest. I was on assignment with Life in LA, so I naturally had a blast interviewing the organizers and some vendors, gaining a whole lot more understanding and respect for the organizations involved.
What was going to be a single article has morphed into four, as I will revisit the Children's Nature Institute, the Natural History Museum, and LA City Planner James Rojas' work in future articles, for a more in depth look at the things these guys are up to, in the name of education and community enhancement.
For now, I would like to share my Kids Rock! article, to give a teaser into some of the things these organizations offer.
What was going to be a single article has morphed into four, as I will revisit the Children's Nature Institute, the Natural History Museum, and LA City Planner James Rojas' work in future articles, for a more in depth look at the things these guys are up to, in the name of education and community enhancement.
For now, I would like to share my Kids Rock! article, to give a teaser into some of the things these organizations offer.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
People Who Inspire Me: Linda Fulton with Total Improv Kids
Remember those silly Doritos commercials from the 70's? The ones that showcased that funny man with black curly hair, and a big, bushy mustache? Click this, and take a little stroll down memory lane.
The man in the commercial was Avery Schreiber, and he was a friend and mentor to Linda Fulton, a woman I was honored to meet through my work with Life in LA. I was assigned to interview Linda, and learn more about an improvisational theatre class she teaches for children.
READ MY TOTAL IMPROV KIDS ARTICLE FOR LIFE IN L.A. HERE
Linda Fulton is truly an inspirational woman. She has come upon some significant findings through teaching improv, and she uses what she has learned to touch the lives, and better the future of her students. And she does it with heart.
If you live within a commutable distance from Glendora, CA, and are interested in having your child learn improvisational theatre from Linda Fulton, contact me. I was so impressed by her work, that I want my children to take her class. And every child I know.
The man in the commercial was Avery Schreiber, and he was a friend and mentor to Linda Fulton, a woman I was honored to meet through my work with Life in LA. I was assigned to interview Linda, and learn more about an improvisational theatre class she teaches for children.
READ MY TOTAL IMPROV KIDS ARTICLE FOR LIFE IN L.A. HERE
Linda Fulton is truly an inspirational woman. She has come upon some significant findings through teaching improv, and she uses what she has learned to touch the lives, and better the future of her students. And she does it with heart.
If you live within a commutable distance from Glendora, CA, and are interested in having your child learn improvisational theatre from Linda Fulton, contact me. I was so impressed by her work, that I want my children to take her class. And every child I know.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
People Who Inspire Me: 31 Bits
There are a great number of people and organizations out there who are inspiring to learn about, because of the impact they make on society, doing things to better our world.
Today I would like to share with you 31 Bits, a brand new company I have grown to respect, for the things they do to help women in Uganda.
Nobody can share who they are, and what they do better then 31 Bits themselves. Check them out, and tell me what you think!!
Today I would like to share with you 31 Bits, a brand new company I have grown to respect, for the things they do to help women in Uganda.
Nobody can share who they are, and what they do better then 31 Bits themselves. Check them out, and tell me what you think!!
Have a great weekend, my beautiful readers! I love you all so much. :)
Thursday, May 10, 2012
The Time I Dreamed I was Spooned by Bono
My Aunt Donna has told my dad, "Don. You are not just a fan of USC. You are a fanatic!" And if you know my dad, you know his sister is kind of onto something. So, not wanting to let the apple fall too far from the tree, my sisters, brother and I kind of share his energy when it comes to our "thing." Our own brand of fanaticism. Our love of 4 Irish rock stars, known as U2.
My brother exhibits a little bit more class in his demonstration of devotion than my sisters and I...not quite as much PDA, but don't let him fool you. He's wearing his U2 Underoos, mark my word.
In honor of the birthday of Mr. Paul Hewson, Bono to U2 fanatics and the rest of the world, and lead singer of U2, I'd like to share an actual dream I had. We will call it, "The Time I was Spooned by Bono." My dream went something like this:
I had been assigned to interview U2 either prior to, or directly following a performance. My sister Lori was with me, and I had to leave her behind in a building temporarily, while I went on ahead into a house (dreams don't have to make sense) where I would meet up with the band. After the interview, I could get Lori for a meet and greet.
I was in the kitchen of the house, intimidated by all the people everywhere, so I guess I did what felt natural, and I stood by the sink and washed dishes. Then I realized Adam Clayton (bass player for U2) was in the kitchen with me, smoking a cigarette. Totally dazed and in a state of disbelief, I tried to keep my cool. But, I was silent...I didn't even try to get in on an early scoop. Next thing I knew, Bono entered the house. He came into the kitchen through the crowd, took my hand, and led me back into the main room of the house. The living room, I'm guessing? There was no furniture in the room. Just people. And a blanket spread out on the floor. So, naturally, he laid down on it, and he brought me down with him (still holding my hand). And then we cuddled. And he spooned me. That's it. Nothing naughty, nothing risque, just very familiar. For Bono, this sort of thing just happens. Take this, for example. So, I went with it. It was awesome. And then, just like that, he was done. We got up, I was led out of the house, and then I realized I FORGOT TO GET LORI!!! And then I realized, I WAS MISSING MY FRONT RIGHT TOOTH!!! And I never interviewed them.
This dream came after Abi asked me why it is that Bono seems to lay down on the stage a lot with women in the audience. He is, after all, a happily married man of nearly 30 years. I told her that he exudes love for everyone, including the hotties he brings onto the stage. And I can vouch for him, that he isn't one to give sexual advances. We just spooned.
Seriously, I'm happy to be a fan of a man who would take his fame, and his fortune, and do all that he has done with it, by bettering the world we all live in. Happy Birthday, Bono.
My brother exhibits a little bit more class in his demonstration of devotion than my sisters and I...not quite as much PDA, but don't let him fool you. He's wearing his U2 Underoos, mark my word.
In honor of the birthday of Mr. Paul Hewson, Bono to U2 fanatics and the rest of the world, and lead singer of U2, I'd like to share an actual dream I had. We will call it, "The Time I was Spooned by Bono." My dream went something like this:
I had been assigned to interview U2 either prior to, or directly following a performance. My sister Lori was with me, and I had to leave her behind in a building temporarily, while I went on ahead into a house (dreams don't have to make sense) where I would meet up with the band. After the interview, I could get Lori for a meet and greet.
I was in the kitchen of the house, intimidated by all the people everywhere, so I guess I did what felt natural, and I stood by the sink and washed dishes. Then I realized Adam Clayton (bass player for U2) was in the kitchen with me, smoking a cigarette. Totally dazed and in a state of disbelief, I tried to keep my cool. But, I was silent...I didn't even try to get in on an early scoop. Next thing I knew, Bono entered the house. He came into the kitchen through the crowd, took my hand, and led me back into the main room of the house. The living room, I'm guessing? There was no furniture in the room. Just people. And a blanket spread out on the floor. So, naturally, he laid down on it, and he brought me down with him (still holding my hand). And then we cuddled. And he spooned me. That's it. Nothing naughty, nothing risque, just very familiar. For Bono, this sort of thing just happens. Take this, for example. So, I went with it. It was awesome. And then, just like that, he was done. We got up, I was led out of the house, and then I realized I FORGOT TO GET LORI!!! And then I realized, I WAS MISSING MY FRONT RIGHT TOOTH!!! And I never interviewed them.
This dream came after Abi asked me why it is that Bono seems to lay down on the stage a lot with women in the audience. He is, after all, a happily married man of nearly 30 years. I told her that he exudes love for everyone, including the hotties he brings onto the stage. And I can vouch for him, that he isn't one to give sexual advances. We just spooned.
Seriously, I'm happy to be a fan of a man who would take his fame, and his fortune, and do all that he has done with it, by bettering the world we all live in. Happy Birthday, Bono.
Friday, November 11, 2011
#11: Our Veterans
My favorite memories of Veterans Day celebrating has to be in our days when we lived in Gothenburg, Nebraska. We homeschooled our kids back then, and were involved in a wonderful homeschool group. One event we were sure to participate in with enthusiasm was to honor our Veterans by having the kids learn and perform various patriotic songs. Led by my dear Mary Lou Block, we would take them to the Senior Center, and to the nursing homes, and have them sing. All of them waving American Flags, and all of them clad in red, white, and blue.
Gratitude for our Veterans runs deeply in my heart, as it does in the hearts of so many Americans. With the work being done in Afghanistan, and in the Middle East, we have all been subjected to the painful information that comes out regarding the negative impacts of war. But yet, there is so much positive going on, and sadly we just don't hear about it as often.
I'd like to share a link that is fresh, and positive. Something a unit in our U.S. Army Reserves does for the under privileged in Afghanistan, that is beautiful and simple, and beneficial for so many. It's a face of our Military we don't often get to see.
Read a Beautiful Story Here
Gratitude for our Veterans runs deeply in my heart, as it does in the hearts of so many Americans. With the work being done in Afghanistan, and in the Middle East, we have all been subjected to the painful information that comes out regarding the negative impacts of war. But yet, there is so much positive going on, and sadly we just don't hear about it as often.
I'd like to share a link that is fresh, and positive. Something a unit in our U.S. Army Reserves does for the under privileged in Afghanistan, that is beautiful and simple, and beneficial for so many. It's a face of our Military we don't often get to see.
Read a Beautiful Story Here
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Missing My Grandma
Three years ago today, there was a hauntingly ominous ring on the phone in the early, dark morning hours, startling me from my sleep. The news only increased the beating in my heart--my grandma had died.
She was my mom's mother. My father drove to my house and picked me up. My mother sat in the passenger seat crying, my sister Misti and I sat in the back seat, backs straight, hands in our laps, silent. Nobody said a word as my dad drove us to the hospital.
When I was a little girl, and I became aware that we would all one day die, feeling stereotypically invincible in my youth, I knew it would be my grandma that would go first--she was, after all, old. As I think back, she would have been in her late-forties. Old. I would fear the day that she would go, not even able to imagine life without her.
She was with us on every vacation, on every holiday, and she stayed at our house most weekends. I have no family memory void of my grandma. As a little girl, it wasn't Christmas until Grandma drove up on Christmas Eve, trunk and backseat full of beautifully-wrapped presents. She would sleep with me, and it was always a contest as to who tossed and turned the most. She was just as excited as us kids, if not more, for Christmas to come the next day.
OK. These are childhood memories that could be told by most people as they reflect on the life and impact of a grandparent. But there's a history held by my grandma that beats most stories.
The youngest of 13 children born in southeastern Iowa, Marilyn Fiss went to live with her aunt and uncle on their farm when she was a toddler. Her mother was ill, and was unable to care for her little girl. My grandmother's father wasn't available to raise her either--I don't know the reasons why. Eventually, my great-grandmother died, leaving my grandma without a mother.
There was an older sister in Los Angeles who was married, and starting a family of her own. This would have been only months after the great stock market crash that ushered in the Great Depression. I don't know if the family in Iowa didn't feel that they could raise my grandma due to the financial burden, or if my grandma's sister wanted her to help out with her own children, but for whatever the reason might have been, my grandma was sent for by train when she was only 4 years old. Nobody accompanied her on the days-long journey. My grandma was put on a train, when she was 4--completely alone, and made to leave the only family she ever knew, the only world she ever knew--homemade clothes, homemade toys, laid-back farm life--to live in downtown Los Angeles, California.
Her sister's husband was a violent alcoholic. My grandma went from a loving home on a farm to a violent, angry home in the city. She was made to work in the house from a very young age, and endured pain and violence that she would never speak of in detail, but would briefly mention through the years. Whenever we would press her for more information, she would change the subject.
She would eventually marry a man who held her heart her entire life. She had 3 girls--my mom, another daughter 2 years later, and 14 years after the birth of my mom, my grandma had her third little girl. She loved her family passionately, and was committed to raising them in stability and happiness--something she never had herself as a child.
As so many do, my grandma married what she knew. The man she married, like her sister's husband, was an alcoholic. Seeing the ill-effects of his disease on her family, she made a decision that was unheard of in the late-50's and early-60's. She left her husband.
Trying to make a better life for her girls, she endured the stigma and judgements of a society unwilling to sympathize with a divorced woman. Because of her sacrifices and hard work, her girls were brought out of what could have been a family pattern lasting generations. She insisted on a clean lifestyle, on something better.
Her example championed my drive to provide a better life for my children, once my eyes were opened to all that was wrong in my own marriage. I have drawn on her strength for inspiration, knowing that the stuff that made my grandma who she was runs in my veins. Yes, I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength, but He gives me some of my strength through those He saw fit to set before me as an example.
My entire family is missing her today, still not quite believing that she is gone, and that it has been 3 years since she left. We still feel the pain of her departure, wishing it hadn't been so soon. She wasn't that old after all--just 83.
Death leaves those of us left behind more aware of our own mortality--of the mortality of those around us we hold dear. We never know what the future has in store--when our last day will be, or when the last days of or loved ones will be. It's our job to live the most every day, taking seriously the tasks we have set before us. Somehow the more mundane tasks of the day seem shallow and weightless. It's the big things like listening to the sound of our child breathe as they sleep, or seeing the light in their eyes as they experience something funny. Big things like spending time together, or having a discussion about life dreams over a cup of coffee. It's these things that we miss the most when they are no more.
My entire family is missing her today. It's a gift, really, to feel this much pain. Pain is a symptom. And in this case, it's a symptom of a life greatly missed because she was such a big part of all of our lives. We are so thankful for that, and for all that she was to us.
Thank you, Grandma, for being the example of strength and committed mothering that you are to me. What an extraordinary woman.
She was my mom's mother. My father drove to my house and picked me up. My mother sat in the passenger seat crying, my sister Misti and I sat in the back seat, backs straight, hands in our laps, silent. Nobody said a word as my dad drove us to the hospital.
When I was a little girl, and I became aware that we would all one day die, feeling stereotypically invincible in my youth, I knew it would be my grandma that would go first--she was, after all, old. As I think back, she would have been in her late-forties. Old. I would fear the day that she would go, not even able to imagine life without her.
She was with us on every vacation, on every holiday, and she stayed at our house most weekends. I have no family memory void of my grandma. As a little girl, it wasn't Christmas until Grandma drove up on Christmas Eve, trunk and backseat full of beautifully-wrapped presents. She would sleep with me, and it was always a contest as to who tossed and turned the most. She was just as excited as us kids, if not more, for Christmas to come the next day.
OK. These are childhood memories that could be told by most people as they reflect on the life and impact of a grandparent. But there's a history held by my grandma that beats most stories.
The youngest of 13 children born in southeastern Iowa, Marilyn Fiss went to live with her aunt and uncle on their farm when she was a toddler. Her mother was ill, and was unable to care for her little girl. My grandmother's father wasn't available to raise her either--I don't know the reasons why. Eventually, my great-grandmother died, leaving my grandma without a mother.
There was an older sister in Los Angeles who was married, and starting a family of her own. This would have been only months after the great stock market crash that ushered in the Great Depression. I don't know if the family in Iowa didn't feel that they could raise my grandma due to the financial burden, or if my grandma's sister wanted her to help out with her own children, but for whatever the reason might have been, my grandma was sent for by train when she was only 4 years old. Nobody accompanied her on the days-long journey. My grandma was put on a train, when she was 4--completely alone, and made to leave the only family she ever knew, the only world she ever knew--homemade clothes, homemade toys, laid-back farm life--to live in downtown Los Angeles, California.
Her sister's husband was a violent alcoholic. My grandma went from a loving home on a farm to a violent, angry home in the city. She was made to work in the house from a very young age, and endured pain and violence that she would never speak of in detail, but would briefly mention through the years. Whenever we would press her for more information, she would change the subject.
She would eventually marry a man who held her heart her entire life. She had 3 girls--my mom, another daughter 2 years later, and 14 years after the birth of my mom, my grandma had her third little girl. She loved her family passionately, and was committed to raising them in stability and happiness--something she never had herself as a child.
As so many do, my grandma married what she knew. The man she married, like her sister's husband, was an alcoholic. Seeing the ill-effects of his disease on her family, she made a decision that was unheard of in the late-50's and early-60's. She left her husband.
Trying to make a better life for her girls, she endured the stigma and judgements of a society unwilling to sympathize with a divorced woman. Because of her sacrifices and hard work, her girls were brought out of what could have been a family pattern lasting generations. She insisted on a clean lifestyle, on something better.
Her example championed my drive to provide a better life for my children, once my eyes were opened to all that was wrong in my own marriage. I have drawn on her strength for inspiration, knowing that the stuff that made my grandma who she was runs in my veins. Yes, I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength, but He gives me some of my strength through those He saw fit to set before me as an example.
My entire family is missing her today, still not quite believing that she is gone, and that it has been 3 years since she left. We still feel the pain of her departure, wishing it hadn't been so soon. She wasn't that old after all--just 83.
Death leaves those of us left behind more aware of our own mortality--of the mortality of those around us we hold dear. We never know what the future has in store--when our last day will be, or when the last days of or loved ones will be. It's our job to live the most every day, taking seriously the tasks we have set before us. Somehow the more mundane tasks of the day seem shallow and weightless. It's the big things like listening to the sound of our child breathe as they sleep, or seeing the light in their eyes as they experience something funny. Big things like spending time together, or having a discussion about life dreams over a cup of coffee. It's these things that we miss the most when they are no more.
My entire family is missing her today. It's a gift, really, to feel this much pain. Pain is a symptom. And in this case, it's a symptom of a life greatly missed because she was such a big part of all of our lives. We are so thankful for that, and for all that she was to us.
Thank you, Grandma, for being the example of strength and committed mothering that you are to me. What an extraordinary woman.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Let's Work Together in the Fight Against Extreme Poverty
I copied and pasted the message below from the one.org Website. When I read the book "Bono: In Conversation with Michka Assayas," I read more in depth about the ONE Campaign, and was intrigued and inspired. Of course, after going to see U2 last night, there was a ONE Campaign booth that my eyes kept looking toward, so first thing this morning, I found myself checking out the Website. It's a great cause, and definitely worth the time to check out.
Hi,
I've just signed up to ONE and the fight against extreme poverty. I'd like you to join me.
I've just signed up to ONE and the fight against extreme poverty. I'd like you to join me.
By supporting ONE, you have the opportunity to take action to support effective, proven initiatives that are delivering results in the poorest places on the planet: protecting families from preventable diseases like AIDS and malaria, putting children in school, providing economic opportunity and stabilising communities.
Join me and millions of people around the world who believe that where you live shouldn't determine whether you live:
Together as ONE we can make a difference!
Thanks!
Thanks!
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