tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73392676638385987512024-02-19T22:21:59.300-08:00BLOG HAS MOVEDCHECK out my NEW BLOG at
www.robbieiobst.com/blogRobbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.comBlogger473125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-29398237016454454262015-05-13T11:02:00.003-07:002015-05-13T11:02:21.388-07:00My Blog has moved - Please check out my new blog at<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.robbieiobst.com/blog">www.robbieiobst.com/blog</a>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-31682210691915575992015-03-10T09:28:00.001-07:002015-03-10T09:59:56.812-07:00UNDONE - A New Memoir by Michele Cushatt!! Order it now!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNi-SJIRveJRFjZRgPXaGD1G1uZFjabKsIskk0oUE3wkppPew_mUD0gEZIxmoiDnti8yOTXjCw0rV_7_fBwjJY9D8V75QEKxQ7K8O_i-yksYfzPpqaM5gMIYL5YCjWMpXknlAQsXS8UqI/s1600/undone-for-blog-480x480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNi-SJIRveJRFjZRgPXaGD1G1uZFjabKsIskk0oUE3wkppPew_mUD0gEZIxmoiDnti8yOTXjCw0rV_7_fBwjJY9D8V75QEKxQ7K8O_i-yksYfzPpqaM5gMIYL5YCjWMpXknlAQsXS8UqI/s1600/undone-for-blog-480x480.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was a difficult time in my life. I was facing surgery and walking through a lot of pain. I remember sitting on my couch one night, feeling sorry for poor, poor, pitiful Robbie.<br />
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My phone made that little noise it makes when I get a text. I picked it up and read:<br />
<br />
<i>Come to your door. I'm out here. Need to see you. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I started giggling and crying at the same time.<br />
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"John, will you open the door?" My husband opened it and in came my buddy, Michele. "What are you doing here?"<br />
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"I had to come. You need to know. You need to know in person that you are <b><i>so </i></b>important to me."<br />
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An hour earlier, she had called and told me her fantastic news - she was going to be an emcee at the Women of Faith conferences. But it was a last minute deal and she had to leave the next morning. In fact, she wouldn't be there for my surgery.<br />
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"Michele....." I had told her it was okay, but she heard the disappointment in my voice. In the midst of the scariness of surgery, I wanted her near. Selfishly, yes. But there it was.<br />
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So what did Michele do? She listened to my excitement for her, for I was truly excited, she listened to my words of forgiveness and grace, for I truly wasn't angry (It wasn't a life or death surgery and I was not going to be alone) and she HEARD that I was disappointed, because I was.<br />
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At that moment, a lot of friends would've said to themselves that they did what they could do and then they would go on to packing since the plane was leaving early the next morning.<br />
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But not Michele Cushatt<br />
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She came over immediately holding chocolate and friendship in her hands, like two presents that go together. And of course, they do. :)<br />
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Michele and I sat on the couch for a while and laughed and cried. We laughed at the simple joy of exciting news and an opportunity to bless others in the name of Jesus. We cried at the sadness that pain evokes. Sitting in my living room, together, we had a few moments of the pleasure of friendship, sent straight from the Father. And from my friend's heart.<br />
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That was almost a year ago. I could tell SO MANY Michele Cushatt stories. Stories of cooking and laughter and writing. So many hours spent together writing!! At one point, we both desperately wanted to complete our manuscripts and decided to encourage each other in the doing. So we made a pact to KEEP GOING. No matter what we could KEEP GOING. My first novel came out a year ago. And today, March 10, 2015, one of the best books I've ever read is launched:<br />
<br />
UNDONE by Michele Cushatt!!<br />
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It's a memoir that tells the story of a deep friendship between Michele and sweet Jesus. A friendship that is tested over and over through cancer, blended family woes and an unexpected gift of three littles - children that would move into her home and change her life. It's a story of the kind of friend Jesus is - He shows up in her book over and over to tell her to give up control and lean on Him. He gives her perspective that turns into courage when she is scared to death. He puts folks in her life that point back to Him. Jesus is all over this book, showing US, Michele's readers, that walking in His grace means developing a kind of friendship that will get us through ANYTHING. Life and death and death and life.<br />
<br />
Michele Cushatt is one of my best friends. And weirdly enough, it's been kinda difficult trying to come up with a review for her book. Too many words crowd my mind.<br />
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But finally, one has come through. <b>Friendship</b>. Undone is a story of making peace with an unexpected life through hanging out with her best friend - Jesus. Michele is unwaveringly honest and real. None of the Christian spewing of shallow platitudes. She has walked through hell the past couple of years and in every phase of it, she has done the same thing over and over. She has turned to her best friend for help. I've told her many times that what I have admired about her the most is her consistency in practicing her faith. Even when it was faith alone - no emotions. In fact, even when the emotions were anger and fear and a sense of darkness - she still opened up the Word of God and called out to her friend, her best friend, Jesus.<br />
<br />
I will never forget the night that my friend Michele made sure that I knew she was in my corner. She came to my home late at night and offered me chocolate and her heart.<br />
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As I read Undone, as YOU read Undone, you will realize that there is a friend like no other who will always show up at your home when you need Him. He will have the good chocolate with Him, too. :)<br />
<br />
Go now and order this wonderful memoir and let the Father snuggle with you on the couch and show you His deep love for you. This is the link to Undone on Amazon - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0310339782/">http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0310339782/</a>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-66772928750415734292014-06-19T09:13:00.001-07:002014-06-19T09:13:04.341-07:00Joyvotion - A Scooby Lesson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaS844Go8atRR85aqzC-3Di-1ZvVXapHlLI9037fm8TkRC2mII0tWSgguZhbhf-qF-RCK22q0vx-c7ciZXskabJ3FLDYujlDPUpGrzrWM-wpkJpqtaiP2NNF99jLLD_lgA3Iaizav3FyI/s1600/IMG_3432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaS844Go8atRR85aqzC-3Di-1ZvVXapHlLI9037fm8TkRC2mII0tWSgguZhbhf-qF-RCK22q0vx-c7ciZXskabJ3FLDYujlDPUpGrzrWM-wpkJpqtaiP2NNF99jLLD_lgA3Iaizav3FyI/s1600/IMG_3432.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="text"><b><span style="background: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Many
are the plans in a person’s heart,</span></b></span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br style="text-align: start;" />
<span class="indent-1-breaks"><span style="background: white;"><span style="text-align: start;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background: white;">but it is the</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span><span class="small-caps"><span style="background: white; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><span class="text"><span style="background: white;">’s purpose that prevails.</span>
Proverbs 19:21<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My dear old Puggle Scooby ran off the other night.
He was outside on our condo’s balcony and saw a bunny. Any rabbit is an immediate
nemesis for Scooby. Professor Moriarty to his Sherlock. The Joker to his
Batman. A meal for his tummy. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Scooby had to have that bunny so he actually opened
our screen door (it wasn’t closed all the way) and took off. I heard the door
open and close and thought John and Noah had returned from a man-thing they
were doing. But instead, it was Scooby living life off the leash. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I do my best to try to control my dogs. We obey
leash laws and try to keep their barking at a minimum. But Scooby’s heart was
made to chase rabbits. This is a fact. I cannot control this fact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My life right now is full of circumstances I cannot
control. I try, but I sense God giggling when I do. If only everyone would do
as I do, well, life would be much better. But my husband and son don’t get
this. Can you believe that?? </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My body doesn’t quite register that it needs to do
exactly as I say. My neighbors, friends and even my puppies make decisions
before asking me permission. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The world of recovery and 12 steps has a wonderful
saying – “Live life on life’s terms.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This simply means stop trying to control everything
and everyone around you. Instead, enjoy what God brings to your door and deal
with difficulties as they come. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To me, a control freak since birth, this is
terrifying. Right now, I am living in a place of trying to desperately control
what will happen in the next two weeks. I have a plan that I think would be
excellent for everyone concerned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Did you hear that? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">God giggled again even as I typed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The bottom line is this: do I trust God to work it
all out more than I trust myself? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ouch. Trusting the Father is a moment by moment
decision every day. It is up to me to hand over my worries, my plans and my
expectations to Him because He is El Elyon – the Most High God. The One who is sovereign
and controls everything. EVERYTHING. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Scooby didn’t get the bunny and came back inside,
triumphantly wagging his tail. My silly Puggle reminded me that living life off
the leash is what makes a heart sing. And yet I try to leash up everything
around me. I try to take the Father’s place. It always ends badly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So today, pray with me this simple prayer: <i>Father, You are in control. Help me embrace
this truth. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As the great Kay Arthur said, “Nothing will happen
today that isn’t first sifted through God’s hands.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">He is in control.</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Acknowledging and
accepting this fact will bring sweet gifts of joy to our controlling hearts. </span>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-64224279000977374582014-05-09T07:29:00.001-07:002014-05-09T07:31:04.347-07:00Carrie O'Toole is my Guest Blogger Today - Her New Book Relinquished is Coming!<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
I am so looking forward to reading my friend Carrie O Toole's book, Relinquished - When Love Means Letting Go. Carrie's story is gut wrenching and beautiful. Truly a story of how God can use everything to draw us to Him and help others around us. Carrie has told me part of her story but I am looking forward to sitting and reading how God worked through a really, really difficult situation. It's coming out this weekend I encourage you to join me and check it out. I invited Carrie to share a little bit on my blog. The following is a guest post by Carrie O'Toole. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YkhS-MdeLD9u81EGGzCgCzcvhxGRPQm4_Xv_HFwpycKxss3SJYIc8O7ZurYxe7pgrGQtaWhPkE6miMcf4n4T3dLZTPfIIWxa9BlHVKIUdldnhbHkVU64-3KR7L5qGX6VEMWSDWy1llY/s1600/relinquished.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8YkhS-MdeLD9u81EGGzCgCzcvhxGRPQm4_Xv_HFwpycKxss3SJYIc8O7ZurYxe7pgrGQtaWhPkE6miMcf4n4T3dLZTPfIIWxa9BlHVKIUdldnhbHkVU64-3KR7L5qGX6VEMWSDWy1llY/s1600/relinquished.jpg" height="320" width="255" /></a></div>
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So many things have been written about Easter! We all have memories of Easter's past.</div>
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Here's a video retelling of Easter 2009 from my kitchen to yours:</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzECblhDkCM">Carrie's personal video</a></div>
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I wrote my story three years ago, as therapy for my broken heart and exhausted spirit. After hearing, "Memoirs don't sell" countless times, I put the book away and tried to write a self-help book. During this time, I wrestled with my confidence and thoughts of not wanting to write a book, just for the sake of writing a book. I could not ignore the burning in my soul about writing my story.</div>
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I believe God resurrected this book, because my story is powerful! I decided to sit down and write it again, the book practically birthed itself!</div>
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As time passed and my wounds healed, I realized my story isn't just a memoir. It's a MEMOIR with a MESSAGE. A message that needs to be heard by:</div>
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<ul>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">foster, step, and adoptive parents-you will feel understood, heard, and find strength.</li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">those who have been adopted-you may relate to the feelings you've always struggled to understand.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">family and friends of foster, step, and adoptive families-they need you to understand what's happening in their homes without judgment. They need support.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">counselors, doctors, teachers, pastors, judicial workers, social workers, and those in the system-please learn about Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). Please understand what happens at home is not what you see in public. Please give support to these parents, especially the moms. They are trying so hard, and can't seem to figure this out. They are giving to the point of exhaustion, and they need help, not criticism.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">those who have or are currently struggling with infertility or miscarriage-you are not alone, and your grief is real.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">struggling parents-it's such a tough job! Things don't always go the way we hoped, but you will get get through it.</span></li>
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Easter...the time of death and resurrection.</div>
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God has given me a new life. I hope my book will inspire many to continue even when it feels like life is over, even when you don't think you can take one more breath. Keep going. God has a plan. It may not look like YOUR plan, but he has a plan. It will be good again. It will even be great!</div>
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Preorder Carrie's book here: <a href="http://www.carrieotoole.com/store.php">http://www.carrieotoole.com/store.php</a></div>
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Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-33440277485994700162014-02-28T17:01:00.002-08:002014-02-28T17:01:41.018-08:00Be There!<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 16.363636016845703px; padding: 0px !important; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">“Do not be afraid, for I am with you…” Isaiah 43:5<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">If you asked me right now to take a piece of paper out and make a list of every single person who came to my mother’s funeral, I could do it. And Mama died twenty years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">A funeral is one thing, but what about something a little less traumatic, like when John was in the hospital after his motorcycle wreck? I could tell you every person who came to the hospital to visit me, drop off something for us, take care of Noah or sit and pray for John.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Every. One.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Why? Because in times of need, or hurt, or grief, <b>being there</b> is the thing that counts the most.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Yesterday a friend of mine was waiting for the results to a biopsy. It was my honor to hang out with her for a bit. Another friend is going through a divorce. Best thing I can do for her, besides pray, is to take her out for coffee and listen. I don’t try to give her advice or counsel, unless she asks for it. I am just there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">In the world of Christianity, we often think that because we are honored to follow Jesus, we have the responsibility to fix others and their problems. But many times, we get in the Spirit’s way in an effort to be spiritual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Hurting folks just want to be WITH someone. Not always. Some folks need to be alone, but they want to be offered the chance of someone’s presence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">When a person’s physical presence is impossible, an email, phone call or text goes a long way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">I have walked through much hurt and pain and over and over again, it is the people who just SHOW UP that ease my suffering. They don’t have to say magic spiritual words. They just need to let me know they care and they are there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">It is just like God to be the One who thought this up in the first place. Being there. He assures us in His Word that He is with us. He will never leave us. Ever. When we are going through pain, God is there. When we are scared out of our minds in an ER room, God is there. When we feel hopeless and alone, God is there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Today ask the Father to show you someone who needs a little of your presence. Be there for someone. It’s like offering a cool glass of ice water to someone who’s just run a marathon. Being there soothes, eases, helps and heals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Thank you, God, that being there for us with Your unconditional love is the essence of who You are. </span></div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-1974876905924970342014-02-25T10:14:00.001-08:002014-02-25T10:48:07.698-08:00Not a Romantic Comedy Love Story - BETTER!!<div class="MsoNormal">
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John and I Two Years Ago</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">E</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-align: left;">veryone has a love story – some of us have many.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It might be a story of a love lost or an unrequited
love. Maybe it’s a love of deep friendship that covered us like a home sewn
quilt on a chilly night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But every one of us have experienced love of some
sort. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The deepest love story of my life is the story of
John Iobst and myself. It’s an unlikely story. We met and married 17 ½ years
ago. We’ve talked about that time in our lives and both of us agree that we each
wanted to find someone so badly. Desperation colored our love story in hues of
rush and foolishness. At the time we didn’t care but celebrated that we found someone.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After we married, life changed. Our love story
surfaced surprising truth and ugliness. We both lied to each other in an
attempt to replay those months of pre-wedding joy. We lied to try and hide the
truth of who we really were. The lies bloomed into quiet denial and buried
anger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For the first 7 years of our marriage, our patterns
grew furrows in our lives. Well worn paths of hurt, fights, tears and denial
continued until they were our regular routes in dealing with anything. Noah
came in year 3 and for a while we pledged to be <i>those</i> parents – the ones who raise children in the love of Christ –
simple and clean and honest. But the roads of communication were already paved
in unflinching asphalt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">11 years ago, tomorrow, I left John. I took Noah and
I dropped him off at Gamma Joani’s house, a woman who’d become an adopted
grandma to Noah and a true friend to me. I then went to my friend Desha’s house
and fell apart. The word divorce surrounded me with its neon letters blinding
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But then….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But God….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Father whose sovereignty baffles me, saw John
and me, knowing the kind of marriage we’d built, and reached down with His
mercy and grace. He gently gave us both a choice. Work with Him and those He sent
to us and repave our lives or divorce. Take our love story to a different, new
level that we’d never experienced or leave each other. The work would be
difficult and painful. SO PAINFUL. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In the same kind of desperation that began our love
story, we both, individually, said “Yes God!” We worked hard to dig ourselves
out of those deeply engrained furrows of denial and lies. We worked hard to
make new paths that honored God and each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And then…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And God…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A new chapter in our love story was written. Honest
love came. A deep friendship and passion was born. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">11 years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have moments that I wish I’d had a different love
story. One of those where two young kids find each other and grow at the same
pace for the rest of their lives. Or one of those like in a romantic comedy
where the frustration with each other magically turns to love, complete with
music in the background. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">God had other plans for me. He led me to a divorced
man with three girls. He led me to a man that was in the same place I was. So
desperate to not be alone that we made foolish choices. Was it foolish for us
to get married? We both agree that it was not God’s best. But that’s the thing
about God and His baffling sovereignty. He saw John and me and He loved us
completely. Enough that He allowed our desperate, foolish choices, knowing that
we would be desperate again for Him to save our marriage. <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I love John Iobst more than I’ve ever loved anyone
in my life. Last night I woke him up at midnight because I was burdened with
something. We spoke in whispers and then ended up shaking in laughter. A few moments with a man who is my soul mate
and I am his. Didn’t start out that way. But God knew that if we let Him be
Lord of our marriage, He would give us a gift that we tried to manufacture but
could not. The gift of a love story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">11 years ago, we let Him take His rightful place.
It’s a wonderful anniversary to us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
anniversary of our love story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-59577528457974288502014-02-19T06:16:00.001-08:002014-02-19T06:17:55.212-08:00A Sentimental Trip Home to Texas through a Phone Call<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJMINFCNmMf1NTFDv0xvg3mv8H019YofluDflPMhtqezGTQY9t1Q9vrtXqu3GEZTWyVA1hcIsOPXDD5puISCbjQqg92RLRFLzVQV7rU5FgTraP4WXaWLpgOitnTl1qxpomGls5HEpnlk/s1600/Ray+Shotwell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJMINFCNmMf1NTFDv0xvg3mv8H019YofluDflPMhtqezGTQY9t1Q9vrtXqu3GEZTWyVA1hcIsOPXDD5puISCbjQqg92RLRFLzVQV7rU5FgTraP4WXaWLpgOitnTl1qxpomGls5HEpnlk/s1600/Ray+Shotwell.jpg" height="640" width="618" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">This is Ray Shotwell and me. I believe I was a senior in high school. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am not a phone person. Never been the kind of gal
who likes to sit and talk for a long time without being able to see someone. I
don’t know why. So many times I’ve heard my friends say things like, “Were you
angry on the phone? You sounded sick when I called. You don’t like talking on
the phone, do you?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The last positive comment I remember about me and
the phone was a long time ago when a roommate told me, “We always know when you
are talking to your folks, Robbie. You laugh and laugh. And sometimes you cry.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My mom died 20 years ago. My dad 11 years ago. I
miss those phone calls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But this weekend, God gave me a gift through a phone
call. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If you’ve read my book, <i>Cecelia Jackson’s Last Chance,</i> you may remember two characters named
Mark and Cathy Kildwell. Mark was the mortician of Boots, Texas. Well, those
two folks are the only characters based 100% on real people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ray and Carol Shotwell moved into my hometown of Van
Horn, Texas, when I was 15. I immediately liked Ray. He was extremely funny and
playful and his wife Carol was always kind and a definite straight-woman to Ray’s
joking personality. Looking back, I can’t believe I only lived in the same town
with them for 3 years. It feels as if I’ve known them forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ray and Joe King, our pastor, were the recipients of
several practical jokes at the hands of our youth group. They gave back, too.
The water balloon incident I tell in my novel is completely true. Instead of
Cecelia locking the door to keep me and my friends out, it was Mom. When I told them about my book, Carol asked if I included the time my friend Darla and I broke into Ray and Carol's house and sewed up the legs of Ray's bermuda shorts. I didn't. :) We got in so much trouble for that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I emailed Carol and Ray last week and asked them if
they liked my novel. In response, they called me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">During our over-an-hour chat, I sat back in a chair
and got comfy, as if I was going to watch a long movie. Even as I did it, I
thought, “This is new. For a phone call?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But oh my goodness, hearing their Texas twangy
accents, listening to them tell stories and laugh and catch me up on
everything, took me home. Home like sitting in the kitchen while Mama worked on
hamburger gravy for supper. Home like watching Daddy varnish fiddles and
smelling the sweet tang as my eyes followed his hands of expertise. Home like I
felt when I got on the phone with my folks, laughing and crying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ray and Carol aren’t old enough to be my parents,
but they talk to me as if I was theirs. They’ve never had kids, but they’ve
parented and guided many, including me. At one point in the conversation I
said, “I think </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m on Facebook too much.” Carol immediately said, “Yes, you
are, Robbie.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I laughed so hard. It sounded exactly like what
Sally Ann Floyd would say to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">They loved my book and ended our conversation
telling me they loved me like I was their own. I hung up and started bawling. I
miss my folks, but I wasn’t crying out of grief. The tears fell because with
one phone call I’d travelled home. It was a time of teenage angst and pranks,
of dreaming and teaming up with my cohorts. A time when I discovered the joy of Jesus. Ray and Carol played a major role
back then and so to hear their voices took me back, like a certain smell will
remind me of our old house on Summer Street or a Bee Gee’s song will take me
back to the Van Horn Community Center. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I told John about it
all and we are going to take a trip sometime to Humble, Texas where Ray and
Carol now live. I want to reconnect in person and hug their necks. I also want
them to meet my boy, 15 year old Noah. I will present him to them like I’m
showing my report card with all A’s to my folks. He and Ray will be fast
friends, I’m sure. </span>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-42425260579832010202014-02-13T08:11:00.000-08:002014-02-13T08:14:23.470-08:00That Man O'Mine and His Part in Cecelia Jackson's Last Chance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
These two pictures are of my husband John Iobst handling the sales/money at the book launch of my first novel, Cecelia Jackson's Last Chance. </div>
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<br />
Thirteen years ago, I was teaching at a Christian high school. Noah was 2 and I wanted to somehow find a way to not work and stay at home with him. I am qualified to teach. But what else could I do?<br />
<br />
"John, I think I might write a novel."<br />
<br />
"About what?"<br />
<br />
"Three girls who grew up together reunite."<br />
<br />
"Sounds good. Go for it."<br />
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And Cecelia Jackson was born. When I began I thought, well, I'll write this in a year, and then it will be published and I will earn tons of money and quit my job to do Barnes and Noble book signings and Oprah.<br />
<br />
If you are a writer, that made you smile. Does. Not. Work that way.<br />
<br />
Here I am, thirteen years later and Cecelia is out there in the read-o-sphere and my cup runneth over.<br />
<br />
But I want you to know something that I haven't spoke of often. And that is the fact that John Iobst is much of the reason that my book made the trip from my brain to Amazon.<br />
<br />
Here's how:<br />
<br />
1st year of writing it: "John, this is more difficult than I thought. Will you listen to me as I read this?"<br />
"Sure." And he did, night after night, suggesting plot points.<br />
<br />
2nd through 4th years: "John, this is not great. I need help. They have something called writing conferences."<br />
"Okay, let me send you to a couple as a gift."<br />
<br />
5th year: "Everyone has rejected it that I've sent it to." <br />
"Keep trying, Robbie. It's a good book."<br />
<br />
6th year: "What would you think if I quit my job to write and speak full time?"<br />
"I just got a huge raise. Do it!"<br />
<br />
Years 7 and 8: "That novel went nowhere. I'm going to write nonfiction for a while."<br />
"Okay, you'll be great. But don't forget about Cecelia. It's good."<br />
<br />
Years 9 -11: "John, I got an agent." <br />
"Yay!"<br />
"Everyone has rejected my nonfiction book." <br />
"I'm sorry, Robbie, but don't stop."<br />
"Why am I doing this?"<br />
"God has called you to do this, right?"<br />
"My agent dumped me."<br />
"I'm sorry, honey. But keep going."<br />
"I should get a real job."<br />
"Why get another job if God has called you to do this? Don't worry about money, let me do that. Do what God is telling you to do." <br />
<br />
Year 11 and 12: "Maybe I'll write fiction."<br />
"Why not go back to Cecelia? That's a great book."<br />
"It keeps getting rejected, John." <br />
"Robbie, keep trying." <br />
"John, the Christian publishers don't think it's Christian enough. They want me to rewrite it."<br />
"What do YOU think God wants you to do?"<br />
"Hang in there with it."<br />
"There you go."<br />
<br />
Year 12: "John, Written World wants to publish it!!"<br />
"Of course they do, honey! Way to go!"<br />
<br />
I am the first girl to say I have a gift in John Iobst. He would say that in the first years of our marriage, he was no gift at all. But I wasn't either. John has been the kind of husband most women dream about having. I dreamed about having. He is Godly and supportive and loving and strong.<br />
<br />
And he is the one who kept telling me to keep writing when I wanted to quit - over and over.<br />
<br />
That man o'mine is pretty wonderful.Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-26158280026965892262014-02-12T12:28:00.002-08:002014-02-12T12:29:25.166-08:00Be Your Own Valentine!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="text"><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">“Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;</span></b></span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"> <span class="text">you formed me in my mother’s womb.</span><br /><span class="text">I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!</span> <span class="text">Body and soul, I am marvelously made!</span><br /><span class="text">I worship in adoration—what a creation!” Psalm 139:13-15 (The Message)<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">If you look up the origins of Valentine’s Day, you will find several stories and legends. One is based on Saint Valentine of Rome who was imprisoned for performing weddings for soldiers and for ministering to Christians. According to this legend, in prison he healed the daughter of his jailer. Before his death, Saint Valentine wrote this girl a letter and signed it, “Your Valentine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">This Valentine’s Day I am looking at the holiday in a new way. I love Jesus and I love my husband so much. But this year, my Valentine is going to be….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">I am making myself a Valentine and writing myself a letter, telling Robbie all the cool things I love about her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">If you find this arrogant, let me explain. For years, I have been the victim of my own self condemnation. I’m not good enough, I’m not thin enough, blah, blah, blah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">In December I went to a Sozo meeting and two ladies prayed for me and guided me to pray. It was an incredible experience. One of the many things that happened is I had this vision of me standing surrounded by a wall of bricks. One of the bricks was labeled SELF CONDEMNATION. Jesus was standing with me and handed me a sledge hammer. I obeyed and whacked the wall and a couple of tiny pieces fell down. I looked to Jesus and He grinned and put His big toe on the wall and Kapoweee! The wall was obliterated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">I have seen the evidence of that vision/healing in my life the last couple of months. The enemy gets very little victory in my life in the area of beating up on Robbie by Robbie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Ergo, this week and my Valentine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">I started writing my letter the other day. Part of it says:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">“Robbie, I love your humor and the way you are able to see the funny, even when it is hidden in the corners during the difficult moments.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">It’s counter-intuitive. But after so many years of making me, God’s creation, less than I am by demeaning myself, IT IS TIME!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">So Joyvotion reader, here’s a suggestion. If you put yourself down a lot, give this a try. Ask God to guide you in finding the cool, wonderful aspects of yourself that HE created. And then celebrate this week of love by loving yourself. Jesus will cheer you on!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">My Own Valentine,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">Robbie </span></div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-9700921871821056212014-02-11T08:54:00.002-08:002014-02-11T08:55:58.001-08:00The Wise Mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I go to counseling, without shame or embarrassment,
to get help for my eating issues. It’s been a difficult and wonderful journey.
Currently I am in a group where we learn DBT skills. (Look that up if you are
interested.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One of the skills we are learning is how to make
decisions from our “wise mind.” The wise mind is that place where the emotional
mind and the logical mind intersect. It’s where I make a choice, not just using
emotion or logic but both. Put together in perfect balance. The result is
usually a tremendous sense of peace. Nothing wrong with emotions or logic, but
often I make decisions solely based on one or the other. I’m learning to STOP.
And then pray and wait. As I contemplate, my intuition kicks in and the Holy
Spirit guides me to the wise mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For example, I have an argument with John. He leaves
to go to work and I am sitting in the house alone. Emotionally, this is where I
usually turn to food for comfort. I will make myself pancakes and all will be
well. Logically, I sit and try to understand why we fought. I make a list of
pros and cons and walk through the fight. I make assumptions based on what I
believe to be true. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Both of these responses are human. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But now I am learning to STOP. Wait and pray. Then I
try to combine the emotional and logical. I give heed to my emotions because
they often communicate something I need to know. I listen to the logical side
of events, too. AND THEN: I pray and try to lean on intuition. What happened
and why? What would be a healthy choice for me at this moment? What would the
consequences be? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I practice this, the wise mind comes easier and
quicker. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Why is this something I thought I would share on my
blog? Many of you, like me, are emotional eaters. We have an emotion and we
eat. Cause and effect. A little road of neuron synapses fire up with this
pattern and the groove is well worn in our brains. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Nothing changes if nothing changes. (This is a 12
step saying.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So I am trying to change. Just saying no doesn’t
work with me. I have to teach myself new skills and finding my wise mind is one
of them. If you, like me, are an emotional eater, google wise mind and read up
on it and start practicing. It works. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Have you ever heard of this or tried it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-7765576254978779192014-02-06T07:59:00.003-08:002014-02-06T08:11:48.309-08:00Are You Tired of People Pleasing? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxsFHfv4gXkbS1lZlWYcGMhSMo07HwRopvYlCObeBRBNUCT5wzI-glkc_x3le9Ik8-SvQrZQu5JlPM0p5FweRN8gs8KxHCTxhZVcM6A7n95jKjngbZQFrifv_8YmE3WEPIfWJK7ynQvU/s1600/people+pleasing+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxsFHfv4gXkbS1lZlWYcGMhSMo07HwRopvYlCObeBRBNUCT5wzI-glkc_x3le9Ik8-SvQrZQu5JlPM0p5FweRN8gs8KxHCTxhZVcM6A7n95jKjngbZQFrifv_8YmE3WEPIfWJK7ynQvU/s1600/people+pleasing+pic.jpg" height="268" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am so tired, weary in fact, of living my life
based on group decisions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s the heart of a people pleaser to please. It’s
also the curse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am the last of four kids – the baby, the brat. But
I am also the one that wanted desperately to please my parents and everyone
else. I was a good girl, a straight A student, president of the student
council, most friendly in high school. I was extremely good at pleasing. So
much so that the desire became part of everything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m 51 now. I’m a wife, mom, stepmom and grandma.
I’m an ex-teacher, speaker, writer. But the title that has come to the
forefront of my life is lately is People Pleaser. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve seen this title at work in two ways – even
though I’ve fought it for years:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">1) </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">If
I can agree with you to make you like me, I will.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This is also part of hating
conflict. I’ve noticed it lately and so I’ve begun to speak up in
disagreement if I feel the need. You don’t like me? Fine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">2) </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">If
by being weaker than you, you will like me, I will do it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am a strong woman and I have
talents that GOD has given me. But I find myself becoming less in the presence
of those that I have an inkling would be intimidated or offended by my
strength. And if that could lead to them not liking me, well, then I will be
just a little weaker – or dumber – or less talented. No more. It is time to
stand up in my strength and uniqueness the way God has made me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">No more group decisions. I’m not blaming ANYONE else
– I’m the one who asks for a vote over and over. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But now, well, now it’s me and
the Lord.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Do you deal with people pleasing? If so, what do you
do to NOT do it? I'd love to hear how you deal with it. Not that I will do anything you suggest.... :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-66264773342029477752014-02-04T08:11:00.000-08:002014-02-04T08:26:30.755-08:00What Do Philip Seymour Hoffman and I Have in Common? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWpKJOUr6_I-BJ5peS4aohExGfqqpViKJ03CeGiQnTjStE-Yq6VQkv94KSgnXCeTIuBRRO5SUWUaftHmC2SbYs3a7r4181dKU46aokopmA9tZecZ6loaeTIESg9Oy58m9mxlyHxf5pcI/s1600/philip+seymour+hoffman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWWpKJOUr6_I-BJ5peS4aohExGfqqpViKJ03CeGiQnTjStE-Yq6VQkv94KSgnXCeTIuBRRO5SUWUaftHmC2SbYs3a7r4181dKU46aokopmA9tZecZ6loaeTIESg9Oy58m9mxlyHxf5pcI/s1600/philip+seymour+hoffman.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoVwXRllc4fiQLcaidwYV9EbHu6uYyV3WtzdGCEV72UNOQSU0PjuiXO-7Ov7tcXHTS1y5XUvxpSv6C_MC1G4JWvnaLpT_QIgy8H_Vz6WKQKfxwSot7geXEUrpAZS_5Qarzkt7N-eJPUs/s1600/IMG_3933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoVwXRllc4fiQLcaidwYV9EbHu6uYyV3WtzdGCEV72UNOQSU0PjuiXO-7Ov7tcXHTS1y5XUvxpSv6C_MC1G4JWvnaLpT_QIgy8H_Vz6WKQKfxwSot7geXEUrpAZS_5Qarzkt7N-eJPUs/s1600/IMG_3933.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">On Super Bowl Sunday, my heart fell and I cried. It
had nothing to do with the beating the Denver Broncos took at the hands of the
Seattle Seahawks. I don’t care about football. It was that moment when I
glanced on Facebook and saw that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died. I remember clicking
over to news sites and reading two horrible words: drug overdose. I said aloud,
“Oh no.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I really enjoyed him in “Capote” as well as “Doubt.”
His talent had a certain depth that I recognized as different from many actors.
My heart hurt to hear of his passing. But not because of his artistic talent
but because of his killer. At the hands of addiction, another person lost his
life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So what do Philip Seymour Hoffman and I have in
common? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Of course it’s not fame or money. I am a normal gal
living in a suburb of Denver. No entourage or fast paced schedule. But just
like Philip Seymour Hoffman, I am an addict. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve never done drugs. I drink, but rarely. My drug
of choice is overeating food or sugar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The comparison might be dramatic to you, but it’s
not to me. I think that’s why I cried on Sunday. I feel for Mr. Hoffman. See, I
know what it is like to compulsively do something that is inherently bad for
you. I know that feeling of being controlled by a desire.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A difference between Hoffman and myself is that his drug can kill quickly. Addiction to food/sugar kills but often it takes years. So although the murderer uses different methods, it is still lethal. Addiction kills. James Gandolfini, another wonderful actor, died last year of heart disease caused by obesity. Please hear me - not all obese folks are food addicts. I don't believe that. But I do believe addiction often leads to obesity. Addiction kills. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am in the process of desperately trying (and have been for a couple of years) to find a new way of living that doesn't involve overindulging in food or sugar. I don't have a lot of answers. My husband is a recovering addict, so I've seen firsthand the freedom one can have in recovery. It is possible. And I know the only way out is reliance on God. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<h2 style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
</h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s ironic that most addicts like myself, have a
stubborn strict that says, “We will not be controlled.” God, the One who loves
each of us no matter if we are addicts or not, truly will not be controlled. But
as addicts, instead of choosing to rely on God for freedom, we choose our drug
of choice, which in fact, does control us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m not talking about diets or weight loss plans.
I’m talking about allowing the love of Jesus to fill that empty space that we
all deal with most every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Philip Seymour Hoffman filled that space with drugs
and died. I am so sorry for his death. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Today I have the choice to fill that empty space in
me with food or Jesus’s grace and love. What will I do? I don’t know. But I
hope, I so hope, I’ll choose God’s help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I wish, I so wish, Mr. Hoffman had made that
choice. </span>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-48429896067845380382014-01-24T06:41:00.002-08:002014-01-24T06:41:57.657-08:00So What ARE You Eating? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq30UVUfUOVevcb4tocCBKlCbvXyYKDF06R3JXDLVMKZhaap7bJDqyuL8IvE_p6jNC3GuC7yaraeP713GpB5SYo-IwzQUIjKDjmWZo2b0iExFyM_oD2n5boubdoebJvchM8UHaxu9ZfEk/s1600/clean-eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq30UVUfUOVevcb4tocCBKlCbvXyYKDF06R3JXDLVMKZhaap7bJDqyuL8IvE_p6jNC3GuC7yaraeP713GpB5SYo-IwzQUIjKDjmWZo2b0iExFyM_oD2n5boubdoebJvchM8UHaxu9ZfEk/s1600/clean-eating.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When I've told folks I am on a detox from sugar and all grains, they inevitably ask, "So what ARE you eating?"<br />
<br />
Guided by Amy Thedinga <a href="http://www.amythedinga.com/">www.amythedinga.com </a> I have eated quite well. I have not enjoyed all the prep and cooking I've had to do, but the food itself has been really good, with one or two exceptions.<br />
<br />
Here's a sample:<br />
<br />
Every morning I've had either a smoothie or a juice. I've started most with some kind of greens, be it spinach, kale or collard greens. I've had all sorts of veggies and fruits and added a bit of almond butter for protein.<br />
<br />
HUGE DISCOVERY - Almond Butter - the kind that is just almonds and salt. DELICIOUS!<br />
<br />
Snacks: I've had fruits, veggies and almond or peanut butter. I made kale chips once, but I wasn't THAT impressed.<br />
<br />
Lunch: Often I've had leftovers from dinner - but I did make a kale/raisin salad that was wonderful, some quinoa/avocado tacos (in lettuce wraps) that I loved and a carrot/apple/pineapple slaw that was WONDERFUL.<br />
<br />
Supper: I've had roasted chicken (my first time to roast chicken,) steak and round steak. I've made spinach salad and have had lots of veggie sides - steamed broccoli, boiled carrots, roasted squash, etc.<br />
<br />
So overall I have eaten WELL. I am learning. I'm not perfect but I am doing my best to change our family's eating to be more healthy.<br />
<br />
MOST of the recipes I've used have been from Amy Thedinga. She has an incredibly smart and good program to get you and your family eating clean. She is going to have an informational meeting next Wednesday, January 29th at 6:30. To get more information email Amy at info@amythedinga.com<br />
<br />
Here's to us!<br />
<br />Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-26464137492256700772014-01-22T06:14:00.002-08:002014-01-22T06:15:58.688-08:00Observations after Clean Eating for One Week. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZbBdmYpiLVrIQkNdbA_Y-VP3Dh-iWsmUraD_eCY8Fo1pt5lJE9B74Qdu5iAchQnqkrg0XXgapIjJarXfE4DtK0xZi85bvQ5vn550PPuB5Zh4iHkI0Kxiea9_-p8HQNmiHGWev8dAcKI/s1600/Apple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZbBdmYpiLVrIQkNdbA_Y-VP3Dh-iWsmUraD_eCY8Fo1pt5lJE9B74Qdu5iAchQnqkrg0XXgapIjJarXfE4DtK0xZi85bvQ5vn550PPuB5Zh4iHkI0Kxiea9_-p8HQNmiHGWev8dAcKI/s1600/Apple.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">"I hated every minute of training, but I said, 'Don't quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.'" Muhammad Ali</b></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One week of clean eating detox – this means I’ve only eaten
veggies, fruit and meat. No breads, no grains, no processed foods. My coach and advisor through this has been Amy Thedinga - her website is SO informative if you are curious about this: <a href="http://www.amythedinga.com/">www.amythedinga.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Observations after one week:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"> 1) </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">The first 3 days were hellish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">2) I have no cravings – but my mind tells me that my
pattern is to have bread or drink a coke, so I look for them automatically.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">3) To eat clean you need to cook and chop A LOT. I’ve
spent more time in the kitchen this week than I have in years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">4) I had no idea how much I live on processed foods.
Simple things like Miracle Whip or Peter Pan Peanut Butter or crackers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">5) </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">I am learning about lean proteins. I’ve eaten a
lot of chicken and I am trying to discover others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">6) </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">I have found the treasure that is almond butter.
And being the food addict I am, I have to tell myself to not sit and eat a
whole container at a time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">7) </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">God’s strength is the ONLY way I am continuing to
do this. </span></span></div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-11006780833439679112013-11-18T12:34:00.004-08:002013-11-18T12:34:56.721-08:00Find Your Swing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ljMuxEnIbYxUca2xS2_8f-RqHwOeRN7QcVeO5txvaOXJ-KwUy8-161dPnCJKQ8zPir2szph_6GC9eCHJt-eqy8SOiEI0Ef0qoH6EFc3F8MkPO-qam6fSMO_r2xWdYZFiZcjkAIX1pzw/s1600/book+launch4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ljMuxEnIbYxUca2xS2_8f-RqHwOeRN7QcVeO5txvaOXJ-KwUy8-161dPnCJKQ8zPir2szph_6GC9eCHJt-eqy8SOiEI0Ef0qoH6EFc3F8MkPO-qam6fSMO_r2xWdYZFiZcjkAIX1pzw/s320/book+launch4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsL8KqhJuakZG2cj8TU6JWucSxMU3kTEKbJqb5KPsF6LweHGLKc2EX8xeqQcsonVFMhtnqbyCnP05A172jg7bu8dp5T2CKAfyeS7kDo6Xt4kvwDHvnRrDsE4tYH2iU3D_wU2vIMuMx3A/s1600/book+launch3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsL8KqhJuakZG2cj8TU6JWucSxMU3kTEKbJqb5KPsF6LweHGLKc2EX8xeqQcsonVFMhtnqbyCnP05A172jg7bu8dp5T2CKAfyeS7kDo6Xt4kvwDHvnRrDsE4tYH2iU3D_wU2vIMuMx3A/s320/book+launch3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“…I have called you by name. You are mine…”
Isaiah 43:1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I was next in line. My
heart beat fast. I was about to meet one of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott. I
approached. She glanced at me and then looked down to write her name in my
book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hi Anne, I love your
writing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Thank you.” She completed
her signature. The next person swooped in and I walked off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She didn’t recognize
me. How dare she not know me? I knew HER.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Fast forward a few
years. I was in line to get the newest cookbook from the Pioneer Woman, Ree
Drummond. My friend Molly had saved my place in line for 3 hours. We approached
the table. My heart beat wildly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hi! I love you and your
cooking!!” Uh-oh. I think I yelled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She looked at me with a
tiny flash of fear. Was I a stalker? On drugs possibly? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Molly swooped in and
told Ree that she, too, was from Oklahoma. They shared a brief but lovely
conversation while I stood to the side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The Pioneer Woman didn’t
recognize me. In fact, I think I scared her. </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Last Friday night I was
the author signing copies of my novel, <i>Cecelia
Jackson’s Last Chance.</i> The line was long, not like a famous author, but
definitely thrilling for me. I knew 99% of everyone there, but those I just
met, I made a special effort to greet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But here is the deal
that really surprised me. As much as I absolutely LOVED Friday night, it won’t
be my “happy” place. I’m in counseling about food obsession and in one exercise
we were asked to envision a place in our minds where we were perfectly happy
and at peace. The first thought that came to mind was my swing outside on my
balcony. Days I’ve sat there and been still have brought me such inner joy.
When I swing there, Jesus is beside me. It’s the perfect place to just be and
regroup and hang out with the Lord. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Fulfilling a life-long
dream of having a book signing with a long line was fantastic. I thank Jesus
for it all. But it’s not my “place.” It’s not where I find the ultimate joy. I
thought it might be, but it wasn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Publishing my first
novel and all this attention that comes with it is temporary. I get that. And maybe
that’s why it took me so long to get here. Maybe God was waiting for me to get
the significance of the swing and the insignificance of the book signing. It’s
the difference between seeking approval from others and finding approval from
the One. He is truly what matters to me more than anything. Don’t get me wrong,
I want all of you to buy several copies of my book and tell me you liked it. </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> But if you don’t, if no one buys this novel and
it gets buried in a garage sale table, that is okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">While someone digs
through those books for a quarter each and picks up mine and thinks, “It looks
okay for 25 cents,” I will be sitting on the swing with my Lord. And it will be
enough because He always recognizes me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He always recognizes you,
too. Find your swing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">(If you want a signed copy of Cecilia Jackson’s
Last Chance, order it through my website, <a href="http://www.robbieiobst.com/">www.robbieiobst.com</a>.
Otherwise it is available on Amazon. It is a wonderful Christmas present.)</span></i>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-23614719326471927062013-11-08T08:38:00.002-08:002013-11-08T08:40:06.742-08:00You are invited!! Next Friday, November 15th - Book Launch party for my 1st Novel! <br />
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Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-91684127966998585642013-10-24T07:45:00.003-07:002013-10-24T07:46:04.385-07:00It Always Starts with a Dream!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilRi6E5gn_pSErvNiffqxhiw7g-boD8ZfDiWNq6lykLVedS2ifLwcW-VpsGDcIDrSKuRzOQFf6FQDS4uPCI72ryhhe3gaJ2CJIl5G1bJgtIL-QciVwcWJPiLLZjaxm6H2_sbi5DHoUkgs/s1600/diary.jpe" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilRi6E5gn_pSErvNiffqxhiw7g-boD8ZfDiWNq6lykLVedS2ifLwcW-VpsGDcIDrSKuRzOQFf6FQDS4uPCI72ryhhe3gaJ2CJIl5G1bJgtIL-QciVwcWJPiLLZjaxm6H2_sbi5DHoUkgs/s1600/diary.jpe" /></a></div>
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My first book</div>
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My latest book</div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I’ve always been a
dreamer. Back in Van Horn, Texas, my family lived on Summer Street, which in the 70’s
was called the New Addition. On Summer Street in front of my house, I would
roller skate for hours up and down the sidewalks, dreaming. I had the roller skates that required a key. (Wish I'd kept them.)</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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In those dreams I
was Robbie Walton, John Boy’s wife or Robbie Brady, the 7<sup>th</sup> of the
bunch. I was the Jacks Champion of the World, when I had time to compete,
because of course, I was also the Roller Skating Gold Medalist, narrowly beating the East German competitor.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My dreams were my
friends and we hung out a lot. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In all those days, though, I never once dreamed of being a writer. (Speaking is another story – I think
I’ve wanted to be a speaker since I was 8 years old.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Writing was what I
did in my diary – the most boring diary ever written, by the way. </div>
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February 16th - Nothing happened.</div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">But I would
write songs for Donny Osmond since I knew it was only a matter of time before
he came to Van Horn and asked me to join the group. I’d be ready. Writing was
also what I did in making up little skits for our Girls in Action group at
church or later on, our youth group.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I just did it and continued
to do it in my many, many journals and in writing skits and plays for church
and school. But I never dreamed that it would BE anything. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then came Noah.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was blessed to
be able to stay home with Noah for a while here and there during his early
years, but as he grew up and started preschool, my heart starting hurting. I
didn’t like him being at after school care for so long and my long rehearsals
after school with drama got to be draining. <o:p></o:p></div>
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God was changing
my mind and my heart about my chosen vocation – teaching. During a high school chapel service led by
Chapin Marsh, God called me to start dreaming…about writing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
I thought, well
why not write a novel? Naively I thought it would be no big deal. I’d taught
English for years. Noah was two. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Today Noah is
fourteen and yesterday I received boxes of my first novel, the same one I began
when he was two. I’ve rewritten it at least ten times and it’s been rejected
somewhere around 20 times. And in the last twelve years, I’ve dreamed of
opening that box thousands of times. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
It all started
with dreaming – God-called dreaming. Then came the choice to actually sit down
and write. Next the choice, covered by lots of prayer, to endure and persevere,
when editor after editor and editor said no. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Today as I looked
through my novel, I prayed a prayer of gratitude to the Father. And my mind
went back to that little girl on Summer Street. She didn’t dream of writing,
but she dreamed. She exercised her imagination which was the foundation for
every fiction story or book I’ll ever write. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<o:p></o:p>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-77367680007344139832013-10-21T05:37:00.005-07:002013-10-21T05:39:20.999-07:00Now That's a Knife! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfL6gmUkTG9erozceoEsh2Z8M3N6cEglYpzv__kGU8s8Hnta7TMozNbADVQSGkq1VezTfi_zoxXpLWi5R7Oi0cDMibSUB6QF26sBEj7SVY78vvRodUmnEAYqNg6fJ57KW5le6SRIELkXY/s1600/knife.jpe" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfL6gmUkTG9erozceoEsh2Z8M3N6cEglYpzv__kGU8s8Hnta7TMozNbADVQSGkq1VezTfi_zoxXpLWi5R7Oi0cDMibSUB6QF26sBEj7SVY78vvRodUmnEAYqNg6fJ57KW5le6SRIELkXY/s320/knife.jpe" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
husband was raised three blocks from the Pacific Ocean in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Redondo Beach</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>.
He is not a surfer or a tree hugging liberal, but he is definitely a
Californian through and through. Even though we now live in Colorado, we are
still self-proclaimed weather wimps and the informal feel of shorts and a polo
shirt could easily be John’s uniform of dress for the rest of his life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he
married me, a Texan, he received some kidding from my siblings and especially
my dad. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So
you’re a Yankee?” My dad asked him with a hint of a smile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,
sir, I am from <st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place>.”
John replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yankee.”
Daddy stated this as if the matter were settled for all time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At my
father’s funeral, I am positive Daddy watched from heaven and let go that loud
laugh of his. There was one particular moment at the funeral I am positive
Daddy watched from heaven and let go that loud laugh of his. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have
to back track for a minute.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We
drove from San Diego, California to Van Horn, Texas for the funeral. On the way
I drank Cherry Lime Sodas we had bought in San Diego and put into an ice
chest. I liked them poured over ice in a
cup. To finish up this cocktail of choice I would squeeze a fresh lime on top
and then put the cut up pieces of the lime into the drink. Just delicious! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Round
about Yuma, Arizona I decided to have my first Cherry Lime. However, we had no
knife to cut up the limes. No problem, John indicated he would pick up a knife
at the next gas stop.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he
did. He bought a 99 cent little pocket knife at a truck stop somewhere in
Arizona. The little ¾ inch blade did the trick and I enjoyed my beverage of
choice as we traveled through the desert.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast
forward to the cemetery. We had just finished the short service and people were
beginning to say goodbyes to those who had to leave immediately. Lots of hugs
going around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
stepmother asked a question about an arrangement someone had given. It was a
welding helmet attached to flowers. (My dad was a welder.) “I would surely love
to take the welding helmet home with me.
Let’s leave the flowers but I want to take the helmet home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A
couple of folks proceeded to pick up the helmet. However, it was attached in
some way to the big bouquet of flowers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Loreen
asked another question. “Does anyone have a knife to cut this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
husband is a servant. Of course he stepped up with five or six other men, and
he proceeded to proudly pull out his 99 cent pocket knife to help out the poor
widow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon
as he did, he noticed the other five or six knives. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not a
99 cent one in the bunch. Nope, these were knives three or four times larger
than John’s lime slicing deluxe model.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Quickly
as he could, John stepped back and as inconspicuously as possible slipped his
knife back into his pocket.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From
heaven above I am sure that my Daddy laughed. “Yankee.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-82459695381911516052013-10-18T06:55:00.002-07:002013-10-18T06:56:37.135-07:00You can preorder my first novel, Cecilia Jackson's Last Chance, today!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYd7hyZtuNS3Lvf8k9uv1G4tL0eA5fRXg2GCIHH46WptNT_-s_BhttftCD67MCvVgiCtCzDxYrvbVSgu6yyCvfNzLw4c9LWyN6Yp2D3PKLXZw4zG2kQNPsy9365HoILDMago08_vOVI2w/s1600/Cecilia+blue+post+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYd7hyZtuNS3Lvf8k9uv1G4tL0eA5fRXg2GCIHH46WptNT_-s_BhttftCD67MCvVgiCtCzDxYrvbVSgu6yyCvfNzLw4c9LWyN6Yp2D3PKLXZw4zG2kQNPsy9365HoILDMago08_vOVI2w/s400/Cecilia+blue+post+card.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-813347984990254352013-10-16T05:08:00.002-07:002013-10-16T05:20:25.144-07:00The Miraculous Arm of Walker Floyd<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HEyoqFPDLzgLR_UgQnPfYvU8UFnvjW3fXSserJVJ46L3o-exgUJvUjQpHPcI2K6bWc2a-lXTqygzjz_0m_uTjuyhb_7TFF-dc1mDf-Ya2AsrYvEaGxRNsxv6l8VfZxeR4UBNgb3PiBQ/s1600/Walker+Floyd+in+Japan2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HEyoqFPDLzgLR_UgQnPfYvU8UFnvjW3fXSserJVJ46L3o-exgUJvUjQpHPcI2K6bWc2a-lXTqygzjz_0m_uTjuyhb_7TFF-dc1mDf-Ya2AsrYvEaGxRNsxv6l8VfZxeR4UBNgb3PiBQ/s320/Walker+Floyd+in+Japan2.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Daddy in his twenties. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gcB_92k7AqVaAv3pi5dJAhh_yjlQ6hW4Wd83QyiO6ve597F84X7zyvMsWYb_-OUC6fR5QCRCYscN73_F9einqa0_x7gCvhGgYAvJr9kNsdr5Vkw_1tppYJwzo7nGp9rDsKlaQIrpw9I/s1600/Walker+and+Sally+Floyd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gcB_92k7AqVaAv3pi5dJAhh_yjlQ6hW4Wd83QyiO6ve597F84X7zyvMsWYb_-OUC6fR5QCRCYscN73_F9einqa0_x7gCvhGgYAvJr9kNsdr5Vkw_1tppYJwzo7nGp9rDsKlaQIrpw9I/s320/Walker+and+Sally+Floyd.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Mama and Pop</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
If my father were
alive today to drive through a fast food joint with my son and me, he would
shake his head in disgust. Noah can choose chicken strips or nuggets, hamburger
or cheeseburger, usually with bacon, fries, onion rings or fruit cup, Sprite or
Root Beer. He always orders no mustard, no onions and extra pickles.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
When the Floyds
drove through a Dairy Queen, we four kids would also inform Daddy of our
choices:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“I want a
cheeseburger and not a hamburger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Can I have onion
rings this time?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“No onions on
mine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Let’s get Dilly
Bars, too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Yeah!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Dad would glance
at us as if listening and maybe even nod, but he wouldn’t say anything as we
spouted our dining guidelines.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He’d then drive to
the speaker and state in a low monotone, “We’ll have 6 burgers, 6 cokes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Lots of my
memories of growing up in Texas occur in our 1969 Pontiac Catalina. Perry and
Karen sat in the back by the doors, with Phil and me sitting in the middle and
our parents up front. We drove two or three hours to see cousins or little
weekend jaunts that centered on my dad and uncles making music. And we went
grocery shopping in El Paso, two hours from Van Horn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
The four of us
would often get in squabbles in the back seat and in midst of this, we’d
witness a miracle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Daddy’s arm, of average length and
build, would stretch in Gumby fashion, reaching back from the driver’s seat. He
would then slap all four of our faces domino-style. The car never slowed down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Sometimes Daddy’s
arm was not “slap-ready” and he would inform us, not warn us, but inform us
that he would pull the car over if our squabbling continued. We would comply,
but after a few moments of silence, Phil or I would draw each other back into
brother/sister torture. As Karen and Perry joined in and venom spewed from our
mouths, we each, one by one, would notice that the <st1:place w:st="on">Pontiac</st1:place> seemed to be slowing and veering to
the shoulder of the freeway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
My siblings and I
would immediately engage in a love-fest. We hugged each other and promised each
other our first-born children. But the love-in was to no avail. The car stopped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
My father would
then tell us to get out. We knew to assume the position. He would take off his
belt and administer blows to our behinds, even as station wagons carrying other
fighting siblings would roar by.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
If the same
scenario occurred today, the authorities would haul Daddy off for abuse. But it
wasn’t abuse by any stretch of the imagination at the time. It was love. I
never heard the term corporal punishment as a kid. But I knew Dad would “tan my
hide” if I disobeyed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He taught. I
learned. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
In my new novel, <i>Cecilia Jackson's Last Chance</i>, the character of Vern Jackson has that strong and gentle outlook my dad had. I was blessed to have him as a father.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i>What was discipline like for you as
a child?</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-10468655797065787912013-10-13T23:21:00.003-07:002013-10-13T23:57:27.079-07:00Don't Mess with My Texas - Memories!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLHUz3vx5limX24Q13KXkGCx1KIdtaYF__hd3jyoQVSJ6ZozQK9XahhQzsM3z_2KbCa7xGbqSCrAz2J2PROGiSkSitY6OVDOentyz1USYWuI_K8luVBxMlgmMgjO0PVWwpgj-cAw8ar4/s1600/Van_horn_texas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLHUz3vx5limX24Q13KXkGCx1KIdtaYF__hd3jyoQVSJ6ZozQK9XahhQzsM3z_2KbCa7xGbqSCrAz2J2PROGiSkSitY6OVDOentyz1USYWuI_K8luVBxMlgmMgjO0PVWwpgj-cAw8ar4/s400/Van_horn_texas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A picture of my hometown's main drag.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Van Horn,Texas </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is 697 miles away from my home here in Denver, Colorado but only a nano-second from hundreds of memories. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Van Horn, population 2800 in the 70's, my dad had a belt. When it come out, the four of us would promise each other our first born in order to show Pop how much we really loved each other. To no avail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were not abused.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were disciplined. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We didn't have cell phones, but we coud walk all around town in the dark with no fear. But if we got home after Mama said be home, well, we had plenty to be sceered of. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I grew up on fried chicken, fried okra, fried squash, fried eggs, fried potatoes...and hamburger gravy. Yep, I've dealt with weight issues all of my life. Did kale exist in the 70's? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Memories are colored with rosy shades of perspective and gray tones of fact. But as I look back on those years between the ages of 4 and 18 - the formative years they call them - my memories always paint a picture of gratitude. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Van Horn was a wonderful place to grow up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've written a novel set in Texas called <i>Cecilia Jackson's Last Chance</i>. In preparation for the book launch on November 15th, I'm going to tell some tales of my time in Texas. I invite you to read and maybe visit your own childhood. No matter where we're raised, many of us share the same characters and scenes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tell me, were you raised in a small town or a city? Which would be better? </span>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-18553236421103665722013-09-24T08:37:00.001-07:002013-09-24T08:46:24.130-07:00I'm on the Radio!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUDMwe20BzNq_ULsfs0k6Y48pFIMZk1Tq1f61ve7wCkwGAfKu_G2A0i8vDtTIpk5j3tHXX164BtlF7Egzle0YcDbJG7ZbBAswDsQXUmE2ObXiSbnG5ZpVIWCrbgTXC66j78Oxd2xrsdo/s1600/IMG_3073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUDMwe20BzNq_ULsfs0k6Y48pFIMZk1Tq1f61ve7wCkwGAfKu_G2A0i8vDtTIpk5j3tHXX164BtlF7Egzle0YcDbJG7ZbBAswDsQXUmE2ObXiSbnG5ZpVIWCrbgTXC66j78Oxd2xrsdo/s320/IMG_3073.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Angie Austin!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So excited to become a regular contributor to <i>The Good News with Angie Austin </i>a radio show on 810am and 670am here in Denver, Colorado. I have been a frequent guest on Angie's show for a while, but now I get to go on every Monday and talk about FAITH IN ACTION, a topic I am passionate about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'll be sharing my podcasts with you, but first I want to share with you a podcast from back in August where I talked about my book Joy Dance. I LOVE talking with Angie and we always have fun. Before my part in the show, Angie talks with some wonderful folks from Arc Thrift Stores, a wonderful organization that benefits mentally challenged folks. Part of that interview includes a friendship between two of the employees, a mentally challenged gal and a guy with Aspergers. Very cool. My part is from minute 32 to minute 52. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hope you click on and enjoy. I loved this conversation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is it:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://recordings.talkshoe.com/TC-122972/TS-779485.mp3">http://recordings.talkshoe.com/TC-122972/TS-779485.mp3</a></span><br />
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Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-13265253688783375452013-09-11T07:56:00.000-07:002013-09-11T07:56:01.040-07:00Reacting to Missing Lobe Behavior<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #37404e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">"At
this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #37404e; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Then
he fell to the ground in worship." Job 1:20<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Job is like a super star of reactionary
worship to me. After all of the horrible things that happened in his life, he
worshipped. I mean, sure he tore his robe and shaved his head, but he didn’t
stop there. He didn’t curse God. He worshipped. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Wow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Do I react in worship? Do you? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Most of the time I probably don’t. But
this week I’ve been thinking on this and so I’ve been trying to watch my
reactions. Living with a fourteen-year-old young man gives me plenty of
practice. I love Noah. He is a great kid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
However, scientifically Noah’s frontal lobe, like most young men his age, is
not fully developed. This brings me a bit of hope for his future when said lobe
will have kicked into high gear. For now, well, not so much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Saturday he had a football game. In an
effort to allow him to learn more individual responsibility I do not prepare
everything for him. But I did quiz him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Noah,
are you ready to go? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Yes.
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Do
you have everything? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Yep.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Water
and Albuterol? Uniform? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Yeah,
yeah and yeah. My uniform is at school. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So I took him to his game and told him I’d
be there for the game later after my Zumba class. I was extremely excited about
the class since my main instructor would be back after a long time off due to a
broken foot. I drove 15 minutes to his school and then 20 minutes back to the
gym by our house. In the gym parking lot, the phone rang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Mom, I’m so sorry, but my football
pants are in my backpack in my room.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I tore my clothes and desperately looked
for some scissors to shave my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Not exactly, but I reacted. I didn’t
yell, but my blood began to boil as I told Noah I’d bring the pants to him. On
the five minute drive back to our house, the Spirit of God reminded me of Job
and reactionary worship. Now He did this as I was mumble-cussing (that’s what the Iobsts call it) under my breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I stopped. And even though I still felt
anger I made the choice to worship. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">God
you are great. I praise your name for Noah. You are in charge of football pants
and Zumba and You have this. Cause me to calm down. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I pulled up to the house, I noticed
John was home. He was supposed to be in a meeting but came home early. So he
agreed to take the pants to the frontal-lobeless boy and I got to go to Zumba.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I challenge you to watch your reactions
today. We are human and we are going to tear clothes and rip out our hair when
things go wrong, be it huge circumstances like Job, or minor events like
missing football pants. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But then we have a choice. Join me and
let’s fall to the ground and worship our God who is worthy of all praise in
every circumstance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Even with our teenage
boys who have no frontal lobes. </span>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-34975038310444011682013-08-28T16:12:00.001-07:002013-08-28T16:12:30.320-07:00The Spirit of Power Among Friends - a take on 2 Timothy 1:7 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayOBZGONssjpzJ3SsaWIKh1mOtrlH58DjwZOdeKLV697qplrEsgtpreNcqkRDpkjQot6AATjs_f5a6kKgh68CDawDxDO2vgHz1y0vHXGVw4HKtW1XEbHEBs92lCVq2MtCBS8Ev9LduDg/s1600/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgayOBZGONssjpzJ3SsaWIKh1mOtrlH58DjwZOdeKLV697qplrEsgtpreNcqkRDpkjQot6AATjs_f5a6kKgh68CDawDxDO2vgHz1y0vHXGVw4HKtW1XEbHEBs92lCVq2MtCBS8Ev9LduDg/s320/friends.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b>"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power,</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b> of love and of self-discipline." </b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b>2 Timothy 1:7</b></span></div>
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The setting: Haciendas Colorado - an incredible tasty Mexican restaurant</div>
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The time: Last night</div>
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The characters: me and friends Michele, Melissa and Danica</div>
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<br />The last few months, and I honestly can't remember when it started, I have gotten together with these three ladies at Haciendas. Last night we agreed to go again and toast Danica and Michele and cry in our drinks for Melissa, who is soon to move to Hollywood.</div>
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But I was in no mood to go. I was in pain. Why? I knew that I needed to say NO to flour tortillas, chile rellenos and a margerita. No, No, No. Denying myself is still not easy even after doing it often the past ten months. And to say no on a night with girlfriends? </div>
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OUCH. I thought about my NOS throughout the day. I had a plan and I needed to stick to it. But I dreaded it and anxiety grew. </div>
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So much so, that as I walked into the restaurant, Michele took one look at me and said, "Are you okay?" I'll never be a poker player. </div>
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I brushed her off and the four of us sat down to dinner. Lots of laughter and perusing the menu ensued. The chips came, but that wasn't difficult for me. I told myself I would have exactly 10 and I did. But then the moment of truth. The waiter asked what we wanted to drink. Michele ordered a diet coke. WHAT? My ears perked up. As I said iced tea, it was easier than I thought. I wasn't the only one saying no. </div>
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Later we ordered food. I thought I would have salmon, simply because it sounds diet-ee. I didn't want to have salmon at a Mexican restaurant. </div>
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Michele ordered first. She chose the California tacos. And then she said, "But I'd like to have them in lettuce cups." </div>
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WHAT? Lettuce cups and not flour tortillas?? My ears and heart perked up. A new choice. A choice to be healthy and get something I liked! I ordered the grilled mahi-mahi tacos in lettuce cups. </div>
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They were outstanding. </div>
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After the waiter left, I was asked by Danica what was up. Knowing I was with good friends, the tears came. The pain from having to say NO so often is exhausting and on this night, I felt it intensely. </div>
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My friends did something that was absolutely wonderful. They empathized. They reached out and touched my hands. They felt WITH me. The tears turned to giggles with Melissa declared, "It just sucks that you can't have cake." </div>
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Yes, indeed it does. It's just for a season. But it still hurts. The pain I walked into Haciendas dissapated as my friends listened and cheered me on. It was as if they took little bits of my pain and tucked them into their purses so I didn't have to leave with any. </div>
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2 Timothy 1:7 talks about the SPIRIT of POWER that God has given us. Last night I had none of it as I entered a restaurant to be with friends. But in the midst of my Jesus-loving sisters, they gave it to me. Just as they took bits of my pain, they reached into their hearts and gave me that power that is ours to have if we just ask and receive. </div>
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The tacos in lettuce cups were amazing. But better than them, was the taste of God's sweet gift to me in friendship. </div>
Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7339267663838598751.post-15408792487610570492013-08-08T17:06:00.000-07:002013-08-08T17:06:00.457-07:00Brownies and that Boy I Love!!<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJy8ocmlaEjTLbhyKLkG_xG111xaW-MRH693l5NrXgEe1RGR9cfeZkTCD79o41oYdxQ9fEc4sVuB0xFz3_bI0XjBQ-8F6DqoLVxEJWP4SkYg0zOT0iEKcVGaS61dYgrOq9Pwm1MUDEhTA/s1600/IMG_1874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJy8ocmlaEjTLbhyKLkG_xG111xaW-MRH693l5NrXgEe1RGR9cfeZkTCD79o41oYdxQ9fEc4sVuB0xFz3_bI0XjBQ-8F6DqoLVxEJWP4SkYg0zOT0iEKcVGaS61dYgrOq9Pwm1MUDEhTA/s320/IMG_1874.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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My boy Noah</div>
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<b><sup><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“</span></sup></b><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">And
I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to
myself.” John 12:32</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The text read:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">We need more brownies!!</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve discovered I have a
secret weapon in the form of a recipe for brownies. My friend Loretta passed
this James Bond Sugar gadget on to me. God works in mysterious ways and today
He made me giggle through the power of chocolate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">My fourteen-year-old,
Noah, is on a mission trip this week in downtown Denver. His youth group is
staying at a church that helps the community with a food bank, clothes
distribution center and other projects for lower income and homeless folks. On
his list of items to bring was a snack to share with his fellow workers. I
asked him what he wanted to bring, thinking he would say chips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He replied, “Brownies,
of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Noah loves them and so
I’ve provided these chocolate delights to him, his friends and the youth group
often. So he took brownies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve been missing him
the last four days and so when I got the text from Amy, one of his youth directors,
I jumped at the chance. This morning I hopped in the car, secret weapon in
classy aluminum foil pan and headed off to provide culinary joy to a bunch of
teenagers while getting a glimpse of that boy I love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I got there, Amy
met me, took said brownies and led me to say hi to Noah. When we went into a
large room in the basement, kids were everywhere. Young elementary age kids.
They were all grouped in circles. I quickly deducted that they were giving
prayer requests and then, praying. At first I didn’t see Noah, but when I
noticed Amy tapping on the shoulder of a handsome young man, I smiled. He was
focused on the five boys surrounding him and didn’t respond to the repeated
taps. Finally Amy tugged his shirt back and he turned around. She pointed to me
across the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">To my glee, Noah jumped
up and started my way. Then he stopped suddenly, held up his pointer finger to
me (the universal sign of just a sec) and sat down with his charges, once again
eagle-eyed on what they were saying. I watched across the room as my son, the
boy who has never baby-sat or played with little kids, talked to his boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">And then they prayed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">My heart leapt and
tears, my easy companions, sprang forth. What a priceless moment to watch my
son minister to little kids, two of which who were sporting mohawks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">See, I’ve prayed and
will always pray for Noah to fall in love with Jesus and with serving God. The
Father and John, in that order, have told me countless times to not expect Noah
to have the same relationship with Jesus as I do. Noah is his own person and
how and when he follows the Lord is between Noah and Jesus. I have no control
over this. Noah is going to relate to God in ways I won’t ever be able to.
Jesus will whisper things to His boy that I will never even think to utter.
That’s just the way it is. John 12:32 says that Jesus, not the mothers, will
draw men to Himself. But as moms, we so often want our children to have the
same experience with God that we do. And as I watched Noah, I realized again,
the desire to <i>limit</i> Noah’s relationship to mine is to <i>limit</i> God’s
power in his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The boys said amen and
Noah told them he’d be back. He sprang up and walked quickly into the hall to
see me. And then he got all cool again and calmly said, “Hey.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I giggled and said,
“Noah, I brought brownies. Can I have a hug for that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">For this simple act of
service that included sugar and chocolate, my 6’1” boy jogged to me and hugged
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I love brownies. I thank
God for this delicious, secret weapon. He can definitely use anything to His
glory.</span>Robbie Iobsthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07965157577654406259noreply@blogger.com1