tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86573903997352197532024-02-19T11:44:59.527-05:00AnnaLee Conti Nuggets of Faith,
mined from the lives of my pioneer missionary family in Alaska,
that inspire my life and writing AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.comBlogger322125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-92198583848070057682023-11-16T14:50:00.000-05:002023-11-16T14:50:45.001-05:00The First Thanksgiving in America<p> </p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;"><a href="https://annaleeconti.blogspot.com/2016/11/why-we-give-thanks.html" style="color: #3c7ab5; text-decoration-line: none;">Why We Give Thanks</a></h3><div class="post-header" style="background-color: white; color: #a2a2a2; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-4909909522732849850" itemprop="articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 608px;">Despite the challenges we as a nation face politically, economically, and culturally, we are still blessed to live in the United States of America. Thanksgiving Day is coming soon <span style="font-size: 14.85px;">when Americans gather with family and friends to enjoy a bountiful feast.</span><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Many today have forgotten the true meaning of Thanksgiving Day, calling it Turkey Day. As Christians, we celebrate by thanking God for the many blessings He has bestowed upon us individually and as a nation.</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-4909909522732849850" itemprop="articleBody" style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 608px;"><br />The Apostle Paul faced many challenges, yet he knew the importance of giving thanks to God. He reminds us in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 to<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUek6fScBvwyijJkwPMPuCX11keM2x3SajQxAimOGKOiyfCbxan6-1HSA5HBi9xpyo7Cm4EG0ZCNhWtKFDbegiU-eWvJSk3TmAaTMv9-nomtbsgkfE93bncYdf5A3PRE13YBWNPEy-evU/s1600/I+Thess+5-16-18.jpg" style="color: #3c7ab5; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUek6fScBvwyijJkwPMPuCX11keM2x3SajQxAimOGKOiyfCbxan6-1HSA5HBi9xpyo7Cm4EG0ZCNhWtKFDbegiU-eWvJSk3TmAaTMv9-nomtbsgkfE93bncYdf5A3PRE13YBWNPEy-evU/s400/I+Thess+5-16-18.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11.88px;">Courtesy Google.com</td></tr></tbody></table><br />The Pilgrims too faced many hardships in the year leading up to their first Thanksgiving celebration. Some public school textbooks tell children that the Pilgrims were giving thanks to the Indians, but in his historical work, <i>Of Plymouth Plantation</i>, penned by Governor William Bradford, the leader of the Pilgrims described what really happened:<br /><br />The Pilgrims' journey began in Holland. They had left England, where they had no religious freedom, to settle in Holland, where they were free to worship God as they pleased. But there, the culture was so corrupt they made plans to go to the New World to build a community based on biblical principles for their children.<br /><br />Governor Bradford wrote, "Last and not least, they cherished a great hope and inward zeal of laying good foundations, or at least making some ways toward it, for the propagation and advance of the gospel of the kingdom of Christ in the remote parts of the world, even though they should be but stepping stones to others in the performance of so great a work."<br /><br />The journey to America on the <i>Mayflower</i> was unbelievably miserable. Bradford described how 102 Pilgrims were crammed into a space the size of a volleyball court for 66 days at sea with little light and no fresh air since all the hatches had to be battened down due to stormy weather. Can you imagine the stench? Their diet consisted of dried pork, dried peas, and dried fish.<br /><br />They arrived in New England late in the fall of 1620 just in time to prepare for winter. During that first winter, 47 of the 102 Pilgrims died. Only three families remained unbroken by death. Yet, they were thankful even though their daily rations at times consisted of only one kernel of corn.<br /><br />That spring, the Indians befriended then, showing them how to plant maize and fertilize it with fish. When a drought threatened to destroy the crops, they fell on their knees and prayed until God sent rain.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGPidLvhlzUXTccCkJNzhUaQzLMp75ifDQoV17xB1kGp3-nEfGRiujH1zHXxKFcx3d1gaFWLEGR_YJUWJkD-Y3Jcknuo51y4Zk8LgRYFnCgdLSjc4mH1cN2fNLpcLarHQXmwobsmhmbg/s1600/First+Thanksgiving.jpg" style="color: #3c7ab5; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGPidLvhlzUXTccCkJNzhUaQzLMp75ifDQoV17xB1kGp3-nEfGRiujH1zHXxKFcx3d1gaFWLEGR_YJUWJkD-Y3Jcknuo51y4Zk8LgRYFnCgdLSjc4mH1cN2fNLpcLarHQXmwobsmhmbg/s400/First+Thanksgiving.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11.88px;">The First Thanksgiving Courtesy Google.com</td></tr></tbody></table>The proclamation of the first Thanksgiving came as a result of their first bountiful harvest. The Pilgrims were overflowing with gratitude to God because the harvest of 1621 provided more than enough corn to see them through their second winter.<br /><br />Indian Chief Massasoit brought 90 Indians with him to the feast, arriving a day early. The Pilgrims despaired that they would not have enough to feed that many without dangerously diminishing their winter supply of food.<br /><br />As it turned out, the Indians had come early to hunt and contribute to the feast. They provided five dressed deer and more than a dozen fat wild turkeys--enough food to extend the celebration to three days.<br /><br />The Pilgrims were able to rejoice and remain hopeful even in the midst of death and privation because they knew their lives served a greater, eternal purpose. When we know and follow Jesus Christ, our lives too have that same eternal purpose. That alone gives us a reason to rejoice and be thankful, no matter what our outward circumstances may be.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4bj23OQP6HSAqOKbSs8pC15i_Qw7JP2OzTDa_pDMfYf2Z2w6X9O8GhmIgZLlc2fp31jgF1hMzPuBdfNLOvIcb1Uq-5OQo8Ht8JoCMS19xoYe-k2m4rdKsYpjlP8923y4VHR4bMJk9Fg/s1600/Thankful.jpg" style="color: #3c7ab5; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4bj23OQP6HSAqOKbSs8pC15i_Qw7JP2OzTDa_pDMfYf2Z2w6X9O8GhmIgZLlc2fp31jgF1hMzPuBdfNLOvIcb1Uq-5OQo8Ht8JoCMS19xoYe-k2m4rdKsYpjlP8923y4VHR4bMJk9Fg/s400/Thankful.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 11.88px;">Courtesy Google.com<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="font-size: 14.85px;">Psalm 69:30 encourages us to "magnify the Lord with thanksgiving." </b><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">A magnifying glass makes objects seem bigger to us. Thanksgiving makes God bigger to us--it makes us see Him better, see His ability to supply all our needs. When we thank Him for what He has done for us in the past, our faith is built up to know He will meet our needs today. </span>Before you enjoy your Thanksgiving dinner, pause to give thanks to our Heavenly Father for His blessings to you this year.<br /><div style="clear: both;"></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="background-color: white; color: #a2a2a2; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.5px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px;"><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 1em;">Posted by <span class="fn"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734" itemprop="author" rel="author" style="color: #3c7ab5; text-decoration-line: none;" title="author profile">AnnaLee Conti </a></span></span><span class="post-timestamp" style="margin-left: -1em; margin-right: 1em;">at <a class="timestamp-link" href="https://annaleeconti.blogspot.com/2016/11/why-we-give-thanks.html" itemprop="url" rel="bookmark" style="color: #3c7ab5; 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text-decoration-line: none;">pilgrims</a>, <a href="https://annaleeconti.blogspot.com/search/label/Psalm%2069%3A30" rel="tag" style="color: #3c7ab5; text-decoration-line: none;">Psalm 69:30</a>, <a href="https://annaleeconti.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20first%20Thanksgiving" rel="tag" style="color: #46b3ff;">The first Thanksgiving</a></span></div></div>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-59678587579239022152021-12-10T13:28:00.004-05:002021-12-10T13:32:22.225-05:00Conti Christmas Chronicles 2021<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJIL5WREw3HY1A2MsRG7B1hY99pTHX4WQo9BQmA5C_l2RTD2V4IOcPUJ8LSjWXcd6XJH3wf7Wefk6SZ8HzB-LL2IJpCXehkqU64BDHusKAU-APomubKdI8McZJYG8A5y8OPsencXVN__tZyXRX2XlypXulX97Q5Qg9HMZgal4Y3cv7GgqLbn-58I0U=s728" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="728" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJIL5WREw3HY1A2MsRG7B1hY99pTHX4WQo9BQmA5C_l2RTD2V4IOcPUJ8LSjWXcd6XJH3wf7Wefk6SZ8HzB-LL2IJpCXehkqU64BDHusKAU-APomubKdI8McZJYG8A5y8OPsencXVN__tZyXRX2XlypXulX97Q5Qg9HMZgal4Y3cv7GgqLbn-58I0U=w640-h480" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"" style="text-align: left;">If we thought 2020 was troubling, as another
Christmas season approaches, the daily news is still very upsetting, not much
different than that first Christmas when Jesus came as a tiny Babe born in a
manger. “</span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"" style="text-align: left;"><b>His name shall be called Immanuel, God with us</b></span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"" style="text-align: left;">,” the angel told
Joseph. Jesus came to bring hope and peace into the hearts of all who accept
Him. “<b>In the world you will have tribulation</b>,” Jesus told His disciples, “<b>but
don’t be afraid. I have overcome the world</b>” (John 16:33). “<b>Peace I leave with
you,</b>” Jesus continued. ”<b>My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I
give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid</b>” (John
14:27). How thankful I am that “<b>Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and
forever</b>” (Heb. 13:8)! He is still in control, even in the midst of all the
chaos of this world. His peace sustains us in the midst of trouble. And one
day, Jesus, the Prince of Peace, will rule and reign with justice and true
liberty. What a day that will be!</span></div></span><p></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"" style="background-color: white;">A joyful event took
place on January 16, 2021: Phoebe Ray Conti was born to our grandson, Stephen, and
his wife, Naomi, at 2:26 p.m., weighing in at 8 lbs. 12 oz. and 20 inches long,
making us great-grandparents. They live nearby. What a joy she is!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXxQSzJdWv6YslVUBUJto_L1lQRcc06Dvxwno6K4e8omrtQW4h20-9n7i42FdNkNcHKHfQgTCLWUC4g1tlEULZWFXPgwicjdcyU_exiErA7ZjLl9XLpK5a7I22JOfjfpnw1wG3UD5M81mqiElC6ry79s_oVRJr-W5tgUv6KMqYYbZ1KCgl75j3w0MZ=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXxQSzJdWv6YslVUBUJto_L1lQRcc06Dvxwno6K4e8omrtQW4h20-9n7i42FdNkNcHKHfQgTCLWUC4g1tlEULZWFXPgwicjdcyU_exiErA7ZjLl9XLpK5a7I22JOfjfpnw1wG3UD5M81mqiElC6ry79s_oVRJr-W5tgUv6KMqYYbZ1KCgl75j3w0MZ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica;">Our little pumpkin, Phoebe Ray (9 1/2 months),</b><b style="font-family: helvetica;">visited us at Halloween</b></div><span face="Arial, "sans-serif""><p>This year has also been a season of loss. As
I mailed out our Christmas letters last year, word came that Bob’s only
sibling, Mary, who was 9 years younger than he, had passed away in Utah on December 20. On November 2 of this year, Bob’s only remaining uncle (age 86) died in
Colorado leaving him and his two cousins at the head of the Conti family.</p></span><p></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">After three procedures on his varicose veins,
Bob’s legs have healed, and he’s had no more scary bleeding episodes. Not being
able to follow his daily routine of walking for nearly a year due to his veins,
though, we were alarmed that his chronic congestive heart failure had become much worse.
He could hardly function. After much prayer, changes in his medications, and a
gradual return to walking, he is feeling much better now. PTL!</span></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">For the past 20 years, I have been seeing a
pain management specialist for my back pain. My </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">implanted spinal cord
stimulator (SCS) I’ve had since 2007 was no longer providing sufficient relief. </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">After a CT scan last December, he told me I needed to see a spinal surgeon at
the Hospital for </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">Special Surgeries in NYC, where I was told I have very
advanced degenerative disc disease. Many of the discs are totally gone. The
surgeon prescribed 12 weeks of physical therapy in preparation for a 7-level
spinal fusion in the lower thoracic-lumbar spine. After I had my SCS removed, I
had further scans and MRIs that showed that in the past year I have developed
significant osteoporosis that would make the outcome of surgery dismal. My pain
management specialist suggested an implanted intrathecal (spinal canal) morphine
pump, but when I had the trial injection, I had such severe itching that I
decided against it. I continue with monthly chiropractic, massage therapy, and
acupuncture, but I can’t tolerate any pain meds except aspirin and topical pain
patches and creams. Bob takes good care of me. I’m </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">still trusting God for
healing.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">This year, I was able to teach three all-day
classes for the New York School of Ministry and continued </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">to facilitate the
local library’s women’s writing group every Wednesday via their GoToMeeting site
until we discontinued them in late summer. In October, I also enjoyed an
all-day meeting with ministry wives from our region. Bob is my chauffer in our
new white pearl Toyota Camry. Even though we did get the vaccines, we haven’t gone
back to church yet due to our “comorbidities.” Sadly, several of our friends </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">at
church have died of COVID. We miss seeing everyone.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">The family is doing well overall. After teaching
virtually for a year, Bob B. is back to the classroom. Sonny has joined Sabrina,
Stephen, and Spencer in working at Adams, a local chain of stores that began as
a farm-to-table store. Naomi works at Stewart’s. She and Stephen plan their
schedules so </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">they don’t need a babysitter. Sam gives Huguenot tours in New Paltz, NY. Sophia and her boyfriend visited from San Diego in
August, and we enjoyed a family reunion at Bob B.’s. This year, after a
stay-at-home last year, we are looking forward to celebrating Thanksgiving and
Christmas with the family too.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif""></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvbHLnjV6VMYLXQVlOLEm-QZH3dP13sOAxlKDNpVtMHAGLGcdkEHScvzwX9naUUBQazDuguqi6mMPV4s7UbBb2Ol0n08hLUzmz5o1ALeLpxKmCYzXmlHfPva31HlWkUkp_n7bsjAWlLl8Vnv3s2pa6MTKieitCvAaBahnr3KtjT5wP-ZRXgRe9gG8w=s899" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvbHLnjV6VMYLXQVlOLEm-QZH3dP13sOAxlKDNpVtMHAGLGcdkEHScvzwX9naUUBQazDuguqi6mMPV4s7UbBb2Ol0n08hLUzmz5o1ALeLpxKmCYzXmlHfPva31HlWkUkp_n7bsjAWlLl8Vnv3s2pa6MTKieitCvAaBahnr3KtjT5wP-ZRXgRe9gG8w=s320" width="214" /></a></div>My fifth book, <i style="font-family: Arial, "sans-serif";"><b>Footsteps of Faith</b>, </i><span face="Arial, sans-serif">was released this year. Its pre</span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">quel, </span><i style="font-family: Arial, "sans-serif";"><b>Frontiers of Faith</b>,</i><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> is being republished in the next few months by Stratton Press and will include an e-book as well as a paperback edition. They, as well as my Alaskan Waters Trilogy of historical Christian novels based on true stories my Personeus grandparents told about their early days in Alaska (<b><i>Till the Storm Passes By, A Star to Steer By,</i></b> and <b><i>Beside Still Waters</i></b>), are available through Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes and are featured on my website at </span><a href="http://www.annaleeconti.com/" style="font-family: Arial, "sans-serif";">www.AnnaLeeConti.com</a>.<p></p><p><span face="Arial, sans-serif">I love connecting with many of you on Facebook, and we look forward to your Christmas cards and letters.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"">Best wishes for a
merry Christmas and a blessed New Year.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, "sans-serif"" style="font-size: 11pt;">Love, </span><span style="font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: Homemade Apple;">AnnaLee & Bob</span></span></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]-->AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-41251745432206560022021-05-02T08:46:00.001-04:002021-05-02T08:50:22.402-04:00What Is Eternity?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXrJSfzhmzddMMzaf7Hv6zMdovPyo_VMm_f03uMvXzu7GajuSQAcqR2usXlxLAIU7g9ktd0fAuGmrlh7Knb8dYZZ2_RQUU9O-GL5D7mHNoRXJaCaoHkPgTAcnp1SaHVOWtiJHH_ailmE/s1920/playing-at-the-beach-1463492474dgk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1284" data-original-width="1920" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXrJSfzhmzddMMzaf7Hv6zMdovPyo_VMm_f03uMvXzu7GajuSQAcqR2usXlxLAIU7g9ktd0fAuGmrlh7Knb8dYZZ2_RQUU9O-GL5D7mHNoRXJaCaoHkPgTAcnp1SaHVOWtiJHH_ailmE/w451-h302/playing-at-the-beach-1463492474dgk.jpg" width="451" /></a></div><br />I've been thinking a lot more about eternity lately. I'm 75 and dealing with debilitating pain due to advanced degenerative disc disease, spinal stenosis, scoliosis, and osteoarthritis. It causes me to be even more aware of my mortality.<p></p><p>While sorting through some files, I came across a poem I wrote for children years ago, "What Is Eternity?"</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>WHAT IS ETERNITY?</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">"What is eternity?" you asked me one day.</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">I thought it over, then I knew what to say.</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Picture the sandy beach where you love to play;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Picture a little bird alighting one day;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Into his beak he takes a wee grain of sand;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Off he then flies to a way faraway land;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">One long year later he returns from his trip;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Down he then swoops to take another wee bit;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Year after year bird makes one run after run;</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">When all the sand is gone, eternity's just begun!</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"> --AnnaLee Conti</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Growing up in a missionary family in Alaska, I became aware of my Creator at a very young age. In church, we often sang a chorus written by Alfred B. Smith, <b>"With Eternity's Values in View." </b></p><p style="text-align: left;">And a plaque on my grandparents' wall made a solemn impression on me: </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Only one life, 'twill soon be past;</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Only what's done for Christ will last.</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">As I grew up, the question that always guided my decisions in my life was "Will it count for eternity?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Ecclesiastes 3:1, 2, tells us </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: </b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>a time to be born, and a time to die.</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">The Bible also makes it clear that God knows the number of our days. Not one of us knows the hour of our death. Some die young of illness or in accidents or war, but I read recently that old age begins at 80 now! Psalm 90:10, 12 (NKJV) says, </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>"The days of our lives are seventy years; </b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>And if by reason of strength they are eighty years, </b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Yet their boast is only labor and sorrow, </b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>For it is soon cut off, and we fly away...</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>So teach us to number our days, </b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>That we may gain a heart of wisdom."</b></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">It is not macabre to think about death and eternity. God says it is wise! </p><p style="text-align: left;">As I look back over my life, another song by Dean Bernstrom comes to my mind: "<b>I Wonder Have I Done My Best for Jesus?</b>" It continues, "... when He has done so much for me." When I see Jesus face to face, I want Him to be able to say to me, "<b>Well done, good and faithful servant....Enter into the joy of your Lord</b>" (Matthew 25:21).</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> </p>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-19871786961671740102021-02-18T17:04:00.001-05:002021-02-18T17:31:30.382-05:00How I Became a Writer<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe48wyC4F1w1lqHqdFQT5KmEwZ6q0ifVzw4vzTl9Z3ASVdnxRAx_KL8drurS59xQQte8qB9Gy2u_lRWP5xyQqnbfn8pcEJYwm6N3gXFloojYtqq0aPTxMkS7F17P5gnCMH8worVIWl_c/s899/Front+cover+of+Footsteps+of+Faith.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe48wyC4F1w1lqHqdFQT5KmEwZ6q0ifVzw4vzTl9Z3ASVdnxRAx_KL8drurS59xQQte8qB9Gy2u_lRWP5xyQqnbfn8pcEJYwm6N3gXFloojYtqq0aPTxMkS7F17P5gnCMH8worVIWl_c/s320/Front+cover+of+Footsteps+of+Faith.jpg" /></a></div>I
was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. How I ended up in Alaska is a story in
itself, one of which I share in my new memoir, <i style="font-weight: bold;">Footsteps of Faith,</i> a Faith-Building True Story of God's Direction, Provision, and Protection in my life. Available now in paperback. Coming soon in e-book.<p></p><p> I grew up in
Alaska in the fifties and sixties in a missionary family. We were avid readers. My
Grandma Personeus was a storyteller and kept everyone entranced with her
accounts of her and Grandpa’s early days in Alaska (1917-1982). When we visited
them each summer during my childhood, she read books aloud to us—books she’d
enjoyed as a child. </p><p>Grandma was a prolific poet and wrote curriculum for Sunday
school quarterlies and articles for church magazines. My mother also wrote
continued stories and composed songs for us and for her Sunday school class.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">As
a young teenager, I discovered Christian fiction. We had no TV in Alaska back
then. To provide good reading material for cold, dark winter evenings, my
father subscribed to a Christian book club. We could hardly wait for the two
selections that arrived each month. Those pages influenced my worldview and my
attitudes about life and love. When I read the nine Christian fiction books
written by my great aunt under the pen name of Zenobia Bird, I dreamed of
writing my own novels.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="background: white;">In high
school, I began writing about the sights I’d seen and the experiences I’d had. </span>I
got my start in writing for publication while my husband was in seminary when I
worked in the editorial area of Gospel Publishing House. The editors I worked
with encouraged me to write and submit short stories and articles for their publications.
Soon, I was given assignments to write Sunday school, vacation Bible school, and
children’s church curriculum. When we began pastoring, I continued to write on
assignment for Gospel Publishing House for more than 25 years.<span style="background: white;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;">Alaska provided the setting for my stories. <span style="background: white;">It wasn’t hard to fictionalize my family’s experiences
of living by faith in Alaska, stories that are carriers of truth about God’s
love, forgiveness, grace, and mercy, because I learned to know God there.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">In
1973, while my husband was in seminary and I was working at Gospel Publishing House in Springfield, Missouri, my Personeus grandparents
visited us from Alaska. Grandma gave me a packet of papers, saying, “Many
people have asked me to write our story, but I’m too old to see it through by
myself. So I’m placing all my written
accounts in your hands to do with as you think best.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3O2sK8mjrjHJKGGJGlqCz7WSegt6NN7pxM9OL0uE_PEH1KM7feTbgY_RLRHaJoTKBlyt5nL-Kmy0Ygq-H5bzpv_BObifFZJP8ftw-A11p_3v7OYNIu9-mFMGNJT5fB38W_22trv7CyCI/s306/Frontiers+of+faith.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3O2sK8mjrjHJKGGJGlqCz7WSegt6NN7pxM9OL0uE_PEH1KM7feTbgY_RLRHaJoTKBlyt5nL-Kmy0Ygq-H5bzpv_BObifFZJP8ftw-A11p_3v7OYNIu9-mFMGNJT5fB38W_22trv7CyCI/s0/Frontiers+of+faith.jpg" /></a></div><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Nearly
10 years later, while we were starting a new church in New York State, my
mother-in-law invited me to her home to write the first draft of my first book.
For one week, I holed up in a bedroom in her house and wrote on an electric
typewriter, stopping only for meals, which she prepared. I wove together the
short accounts my grandmother had written about their experiences and filled in
the spaces between. Due to the downturn in the economy, though, I was unable to
find a publisher. In the next few years, I retyped the manuscript into a
Smith-Corona word processor. In 2002, I discovered a print-on-demand publisher
and was able to get the word processor disc converted to MS Word. My uncle (their
son) paid to have </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>Frontiers of Faith</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> published, and I reimbursed him from book
sales.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">While writing </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>Frontiers of Faith</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">, I came across
several stories that triggered my imagination for historical Christian novels. For
years, I’d been writing them my head. In 2007, I joined a writer’s critique
group at the local library to begin fulfilling my lifelong goal of writing
novels. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">I learned a lot from that group that included published authors and
began writing a minimum of one chapter a week. In 2013, I published </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>Till
the Storm Passes By</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">. By 2017, my next two books, </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>A Star to Steer By</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> and </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><i>Beside
Still Waters</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">, completed my Alaskan Waters Trilogy, the life and death
saga of a fictitious Norwegian immigrant family who battles the beautiful but
often treacherous waters of early twentieth century Southeast Alaska to find
love and happiness in the midst of tragedies, based on the stories Grandma Personeus told.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBjUVzfXUWZDL8ySNZisExfZ9mDD-3iqvaB3-YcbL1qKiCqoohLngyD60KqV9igCIVmAKFoJqX-Vthrsz1i4rKLTrMnOHK6z99L_Q58U9KwbzbdIA7bTwlL_n4SiGHwKSuHX1dfir2Rc/s518/Alaskan+Waters+Trilogy001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="518" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBjUVzfXUWZDL8ySNZisExfZ9mDD-3iqvaB3-YcbL1qKiCqoohLngyD60KqV9igCIVmAKFoJqX-Vthrsz1i4rKLTrMnOHK6z99L_Q58U9KwbzbdIA7bTwlL_n4SiGHwKSuHX1dfir2Rc/w389-h299/Alaskan+Waters+Trilogy001.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-indent: 0in;">During those years, I started this blog, “Nuggets of
Faith,” including many stories from my life. When I read a book about how to blog
a book, I decided to develop these stories into a memoir,</span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><i> Footsteps of Faith, </i></b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">that
has just been released by ReadersMagnet</span><b style="text-indent: 0in;">. </b><span style="text-indent: 0in;">It is now available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble in trade paperback. The e-book is coming soon on those sites as well as iTunes.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><b> </b><b>Why do I write?</b></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">Writing is hard work and involves a great investment of
time, but I can’t <i>not</i> write. I write
because I have stories of faith to tell. God has called me to write stories
that are carriers of truth about His love, forgiveness, mercy, and grace.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0in;"><b>On a personal note: </b>In January, we became great-grandparents when Phoebe Ray Conti joined our family. What a thrill!</p><p class="Texthead" style="break-after: auto; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-pagination: none; page-break-after: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Texthead" style="break-after: auto; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; mso-pagination: none; page-break-after: auto;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">Website: <a href="http://www.annaleeconti.com/">www.AnnaLeeConti.com</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">Email: <a href="mailto:FrontiersofFaith@AnnaLeeConti.com">FrontiersofFaith@AnnaLeeConti.com</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/AnnaLeeConti.Author">www.Facebook.com/AnnaLeeConti.Author</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">Twitter: @AnnaLeeConti<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2562235.AnnaLee_Conti">www.goodreads.com/author/show/2562235.AnnaLee_Conti</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/author/annaleeconti">www.amazon.com/author/annaleeconti</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt; mso-add-space: auto;"> </p>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-66289479238556936302020-12-23T12:44:00.002-05:002020-12-23T13:25:17.820-05:00Colors of Christmas<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWumnidwSIVOxB98F4H6WaYUsAMVAXN3aXw8ztg7VUy6UH_CXW0hmMtIbFfl1WdzHRtQ-cOJALoTvjZcqOrbJVSXhz6R0z5poF5CPtEfG0uJK0AmiOm8G15_0CzBNF60F0F_xcvrDgkMo/s1600/Colors+of+Christmas.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWumnidwSIVOxB98F4H6WaYUsAMVAXN3aXw8ztg7VUy6UH_CXW0hmMtIbFfl1WdzHRtQ-cOJALoTvjZcqOrbJVSXhz6R0z5poF5CPtEfG0uJK0AmiOm8G15_0CzBNF60F0F_xcvrDgkMo/s1600/Colors+of+Christmas.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p>I love all the colors of Christmas:</p><div style="text-align: center;"><ul><li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;">Stained glass windows in churches</span></b></li><li style="text-align: left;">The many colorful lights that adorn trees and houses</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Red</b> poinsettias and holly berries, red velvet dresses on little girls in the Christmas program and red bow ties on choirboys</li><li style="text-align: left;">Pine <b>green</b> Christmas trees and wreaths, shiny green holly leaves, and powdery green mistletoe</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Silver</b> tinsel, silver bells, icicles, moonbeams reflecting on new fallen snow, and stars twinkling in the deep <b>blue</b> of the nighttime sky </li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Gold</b> ornaments and ribbons on gaily wrapped gifts</li><li style="text-align: left;"><b>Purple</b> mountains and purple robes on the Wise Men</li><li style="text-align: left;">Pure <b>white</b> snow that transforms the dreary landscape into a glistening winter wonderland</li></ul><div style="text-align: left;">All those colors inspired me to write this poem:</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">COLORS OF CHRISTMAS</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Silver stands for our redemption,</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">purchased at great cost.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Red stands for the blood of Jesus,</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">shed to save the lost.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">White stands for the purity of our </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">robes of righteousness;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Washed white as snow by Jesus' blood,</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">we stand in holiness.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Green stands for our Christian growth;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">to feed on God's Word is a must.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Blue stands for our loyalty to Christ</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">in whom we trust.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Purple stands for His majesty;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">King of kings is He.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Gold stands for the heavenly place</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">He has prepared for me.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>by AnnaLee Conti</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">As you enjoy all the colors this Christmas, I pray that you will experience the myriad facets of the Light of the World, JESUS, whose birth we celebrate at Christmas.</div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="text-align: center;">Merry Christmas!</span> </b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><b>U</b><b style="font-size: large;">pdate on Footsteps of Faith:</b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-SAR7rk1GvoLAkoKIeorc4IPZ0L_-2fbeH7SjRPKh1p2Mz-LUWRRvggxJTHskiNPl8JcVvED4V1hwrARdnZqHE4nsE-fXeElTIOGEiMq8HidxJlFAgPm6z5-HZxKxxocCBBsNva79FE/s899/Front+cover+of+Footsteps+of+Faith.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="600" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-SAR7rk1GvoLAkoKIeorc4IPZ0L_-2fbeH7SjRPKh1p2Mz-LUWRRvggxJTHskiNPl8JcVvED4V1hwrARdnZqHE4nsE-fXeElTIOGEiMq8HidxJlFAgPm6z5-HZxKxxocCBBsNva79FE/w146-h219/Front+cover+of+Footsteps+of+Faith.jpg" width="146" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Due to the pandemic, the publication is taking a bit longer than I had hoped. The projected released date is now late January 2021.</span><b style="font-size: large;"> </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="font-size: large;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="font-size: large;"><br /></b></div><p></p>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-28209934185114609012020-10-01T15:46:00.001-04:002020-10-01T16:02:59.417-04:00The Oak and the Ivy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strike style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="274" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPYmOzqwhW8Zh8kGg30g9b3Vyc3q7vh84AAp82H99X5huIpaEZzZ-bFYPqUnsXvUXa7MjaWQ0Xo1KcJujQBXvu53G66ILDZRHgHxE4j2NsSDU46qIIWcV9VmJszWl-vjrwRjpwYqx4m8/w248-h403/poisonivy-fall_colors.jpg" width="248" /></strike></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Our travels this year have been limited to trips to the doctors, to Newburgh to visit our son and pick up packages (our mail is delivered to a box at the front of our manufactured homes park, so we must pick up packages at the post office, which we want to avoid during this pandemic), and to the Commissary at West Point, where the military police monitor social distancing, etc. Occasionally, we take a short drive locally.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A few days ago, Bob and I drove south from Newburgh along the Hudson River past West Point, across the Bear Mountain Bridge, and north on the east side of the river to our home in the Town of Fishkill. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">We love the fall. We were looking for color but found little change yet.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Then I spotted some rich red color entwining the trunks of some of the still-green trees--poison ivy, the first color to appear in fall in our area. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">A chorus we'd sung often in church during my childhood suddenly popped into my mind. I hadn't sung it in years, but the words flowed quickly:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>He's the Oak, and I'm the Ivy</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>He's the Potter, I'm the Clay</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>He's the Oil, and I'm the Vessel</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>I'm the Traveler, He's the Way</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>I'm the Flower, but He's the Fragrance</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>I'm the Lamp, but He's the Flame</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>He's the Words I sing to Music</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: medium;"><b>I'm the Bride who bears His Name!</b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Who can begin to put into words all that Jesus is to the believer? Metaphors help. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">As a writer, I love metaphors. Perhaps that's why I love these lyrics so much. These metaphors give wonderful insights into our relationship with Him. He is our all in all.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Oak trees are strong and solid. Jesus is strong, and we can depend on Him at all times.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The nature of any ivy is to cling. It entwines around tree trunks, climbs up the sides of houses and even up telephone poles, and hangs from wires that cross roadways. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Poison ivy gives a nasty rash. Our son had such a severe case of poison ivy poisoning in high school that he needed steriod treatments. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Not all ivies are poisonous. In fact, common ivy, often a house plant, was a symbol of love and friendship in Europe in medieval times and was once traditionally given to newlyweds by their priest. Perhaps that is why many bridal bouquets contain ivy. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Like ivy clinging to the oak tree, the older I grow, the more I cling to Jesus. Sometimes life has been quite difficult, but Jesus has never failed me yet.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">What is your favorite metaphor for what Jesus means to you?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Coming Soon!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1hCFe7AEljqa6CWbj8Q_PQzd6BIrcT4Pl3tNj8DdfWA-GoH6TSVJF1mBHT0rgqMXCvfQYLTr-MxoojupsBE6_DYUpLXUtRdYNZrM8TXiF0dwrxGIHduVaoTA2Wvb_qUZWew7-iiMki0/s1200/Cover+Design_Anna+Lee+Conti+NEW+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="439" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1hCFe7AEljqa6CWbj8Q_PQzd6BIrcT4Pl3tNj8DdfWA-GoH6TSVJF1mBHT0rgqMXCvfQYLTr-MxoojupsBE6_DYUpLXUtRdYNZrM8TXiF0dwrxGIHduVaoTA2Wvb_qUZWew7-iiMki0/w587-h439/Cover+Design_Anna+Lee+Conti+NEW+%25281%2529.jpg" width="587" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></p>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-87424986246117768832020-09-24T08:26:00.002-04:002020-09-24T08:26:48.299-04:00Footsteps of Faith Cover Reveal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGaxE7KTsYVVgQrkE5TcYCYbmjRVLrvOYXKD2svq4Ynhyt6DgS1W17y7SWoTwXbzCTpUvDcbIjsR3GdfrjgAQ8lqDa4j0r19q1P6YKJWDFMhB3EoInTBYhssyfXuKmzIsdD_s0kAQw8I/s1200/Cover+Design_Anna+Lee+Conti+NEW+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGaxE7KTsYVVgQrkE5TcYCYbmjRVLrvOYXKD2svq4Ynhyt6DgS1W17y7SWoTwXbzCTpUvDcbIjsR3GdfrjgAQ8lqDa4j0r19q1P6YKJWDFMhB3EoInTBYhssyfXuKmzIsdD_s0kAQw8I/w646-h483/Cover+Design_Anna+Lee+Conti+NEW+%25281%2529.jpg" width="646" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0in;">Here is the cover for my upcoming book, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Footsteps of Faith</span></b></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-indent: 0in;">, my faith-building memoir of God's direction, provision, and protection in my life.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Topics include</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">1. My parents' testimony of traveling from Pennsylvania to Alaska with two toddlers on $15.00 in 1948.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">2, Growing up in a missionary family in Alaska in the
fifties and sixties where I became aware of my Creator at a young age and learned to trust God to supply all my needs<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">3.<span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span>How the Great Alaska Earthquake affected my life </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">4. How my husband's experiences in Vietnam led him into full-time ministry</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">5. <span style="text-indent: 0in;">How I overcame fear </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">6. </span> How I became a writer and an ordained minister</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">7. </span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">How I learned and grew through life’s challenges</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Here are three introductory paragraphs from the Introduction of <b><i>Footsteps of Faith</i></b>:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"My story began long before I was born--from French Huguenot martyrs in 1685, whose sole surviving son immigrated to William Penn's colony in American for religious freedom. The limbs of his family tree are filled with missionaries and ministers seeking to spread the Word of God our ancestors gave their lives to protect.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"My maternal grandmother, Florence LeFevre Personeus, gave me a navy blue, hardbound book entitled <i>The Pennsylvania LeFevres</i>. 'This is the genealogy of my family dating back to 1510 in France, compiled by my father, George Newton LeFevre.'</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"The lists of names inside reminded me of the genealogies in the Bible, which I usually skipped so I could devour the exciting stories. The book didn't look too interesting until she showed me a picture in it of the LeFevre Family Bible. Smoothing her snow white pouf of hair that framed her delicate features, she related the unforgettable story of the wife of Abraham LeFevre and mother of Isaac, our first American ancestor, who baked the family Bible in a loaf of bread..."</span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Today, this Bible can be viewed upon request at the Lancaster County Historical Society<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="124" data-original-width="150" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHUHrYUqtUM3LDxx9uP8rjaEQiipTxOH2uVMa3MHcEGSN16rUSI3U4qCsoqYOpKbEI0gCGFPD602fYiTCHvy1PwdlMPP77ZTl7WXVSLKFormqgP7WflTWnaZ4vMayJGA86h-J3Ze5wZE/w259-h214/LeFevre+Bible+cover.jpg" style="text-indent: 0in;" width="259" /><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="543" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMb-J-hBAIXs0nfx1s5cNBAwbHrLFQOkEwC8px2A5aA60iTjJ4CxWunaVIvvnR4zCwqHI4NBugh0qiEyRCVDzSHORwKf76qgwYP7_moyc8dHP_nIAlHVNnSDOn1hjq2ejzvT_URimqKY/w279-h217/LeFevre+Family+Bible.jpg" width="279" /></span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">and is one of the most requested items from the collection. This Bible belonged to the French Huguenot family of Isaac LeFevre. Sixteen-year-old Isaac survived the massacre after the Edict of Nantes was revoked in 1685 and was able to smuggle the Bible out of France as he escaped with the Ferree family. I was privileged to view it in person on one of my visits to Lancaster County.</span></span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">My prayer is that the story of my life will encourage and build your faith in God.</span></span></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Look for further announcements about my soon-to-be released book in the coming weeks. </span></span></p>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-60262743409262896112020-07-30T15:09:00.003-04:002020-07-31T12:43:34.269-04:00Coming Soon!<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">FOOTSTEPS OF FAITH</span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">The Faith-Building
True Story of God’s Direction, Provision, </span></b></div>
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<b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">and </span></b><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">Protection </span></b><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">in the
Life of the Granddaughter of Charles and </span></b></div>
</b><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">Florence Personeus, </span></b><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">Pioneer
Missionaries to Alaska</span></b></div>
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<b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">by</span></b></div>
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<b style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;">AnnaLee Conti</span></b></div>
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Growing up in a missionary family in
Alaska, AnnaLee became aware of her Creator at a young age. From her parents’
and grandparents’ example of living by faith, she learned to trust God to
supply her every need. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></div>
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The devastating Good Friday Earthquake
of 1964 brought AnnaLee and her husband together when she transferred to the University
of Alaska Fairbanks on an earthquake-relatedness scholarship. Bob Conti planned
a military career. His testimony spans three continents—from a tree in Greece
to a dark night in Alaska to a bloody battlefield in Vietnam. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></div>
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Through a historic flood in Fairbanks,
a fear-filled tour in Vietnam, and an Army assignment in Rhode Island, God
directed the Contis’ footsteps into full-time ministry in New York State. The
author shares their journey in this exciting sequel to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Frontiers of Faith.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Author Bio:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QQahI9h8-qwkhYuV5VDiS2e7mVfYcKKvwD8nYXS-fKAYcIzEIjs3VJvly5Wh1knONl0ejyPITz4BmD-IuttvdTi9Q_iQkMvm0GqXXYYcZ4YaAalHlnff32RGoXPL_9Wr3uqt5elh80U/s241/AnnaLee+Conti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="180" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QQahI9h8-qwkhYuV5VDiS2e7mVfYcKKvwD8nYXS-fKAYcIzEIjs3VJvly5Wh1knONl0ejyPITz4BmD-IuttvdTi9Q_iQkMvm0GqXXYYcZ4YaAalHlnff32RGoXPL_9Wr3uqt5elh80U/w115-h154/AnnaLee+Conti.jpg" width="115" /></a></div>An ordained minister, author, and teacher, AnnaLee Conti earned her B.A. at the University of Alaska Fairbanks and her M.A. at the Assemblies of God Theological Seminary. She served as Minister of Christian Education and Music in their churches and teaches Bible and theology to ministerial students. For 25 years, she wrote many articles, stories, and curriculum for Gospel Publishing House and has published Frontiers of Faith and the Alaskan Waters Trilogy of historical Christian novels. <br />
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It's been several months since I've been able to write on my blog. After dealing with my health concerns and getting my manuscript off to the publisher, my internet connection became very unreliable. Every time I sat down to write something, it would be off. Then for a week, we lost all internet, cable T.V., and telephone. Last Friday, a technician finally came to fix it and discovered that the cable from the pole to our house was damaged. It has been replaced, and everything is working normally again.</div>
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Above is the announcement that my newest book is coming soon. The above is the back cover copy. I'll post a picture of the cover in a few weeks.</div>
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-51237322437519484332020-04-10T14:34:00.000-04:002020-04-10T14:34:07.730-04:00They Killed My Son Today!<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #5e5e5e; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
They Killed My Son Today!</h3>
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<i>When my son was young, the agony Mary must have experienced watching her Son die on the cross became very real to me, and I wrote this story. </i><i>On her bed that night, h</i><i>ow she must have been haunted by His suffering as she relived that awful day !</i><br /><br />They killed my son today! I pound my pillow trying to expend my rage. Angry tears pour down my cheeks.<br /><br />"Crucify him! Crucify him!" That's all I can hear. I clamp my hands over my ears, yet still I hear their yells.<br /><br />Just last week the crowd wanted to crown him king. Today, they shouted for his blood. How fickle they are! His trial was a mockery of justice. And Judas--one of his closest friends. How could he betray him?<br /><br />John has been so kind. The house is quiet now. But this stillness only seems to magnify the sickening thud of the hammer driving those spikes into his hands and feet. Oh, God, will I ever be free of those sounds?<br /><br />His hands. I held those baby hands, and the fingers closed tightly around mine. Those small boy hands patted my arm so gently when I had a headache. Those young man hands became calloused working in the carpenter shop with Joseph. Those manly hands blessed the little children, healed blind eyes, raised the sick, multiplied the loaves and fish. They never did anything wrong. Why would they pound rusty nails into those loving, kind hands?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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His feet. I remember his first steps. Joseph had just come in and Jesus, forgetting himself in his pleasure of seeing Joseph, let go of the table and tottered toward Joseph, saying, "Up! Up!" I remember listening for his footsteps each evening when he and Joseph would come home from the carpenter shop. His step was always the first to ring out on the cobblestones. He was so full of life. And now he's dead.<br /><br />Oh, my son, my son! I'll never hear your gentle voice again. You'll never sit down with me after supper and tell me of your dreams. I didn't always understand what you said, but just being with you, listening, was enough.<br /><br />What are these words coming into my mind? "This child will be rejected by many in Israel...And a sword will pierce your very soul." I'd nearly forgotten those words of Simeon. Is this what he tried to tell me?<br /><br />Words my son spoke suddenly begin to vibrate in my soul: "I am the resurrection and the life."<br /><br />Could it be? Do I dare to hope? You raised Lazarus. Do you have the power to raise yourself from the dead also?<br /><br />What's this strange peace settling over me? Dawn is near. Perhaps I <i>can</i> sleep awhile.</div>
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-6391137478541705962019-12-23T11:30:00.001-05:002019-12-23T11:30:59.111-05:00The Christmas I Learned about My Heavenly Father<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here is an excerpt from the new book I 'm writing, <b><i>Following in Footsteps of Faith</i></b>--a true event that happened one Christmas that still impacts my life. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas!</div>
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In the early 1950s in Juneau, Alaska, when I was 5 or 6 years old, most families did their gift shopping by mail in the Territory. The arrival of the Sears and Roebuck Christmas catalog signaled the beginning of the holiday season. We kids spent hours poring over the Christmas catalog, studying page after page of toys and dolls, looking for the exact gift we wanted.</div>
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As I turned a page, my eyes fell upon the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen—a bride doll dressed in lace and tulle, with a veil over long, blond curls that could be combed and styled.</div>
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I ran to show my mother. “This is what I want for Christmas!”</div>
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With sadness tingeing her voice, she said, “Oh, honey, you’ll have to pray and ask Jesus for that doll. We don’t have enough money to buy presents this year.”</div>
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By faith, my parents operated the Bethel Beach Children’s Home in a big house on the beach just outside of town. They received little income for caring for the children—as many as thirteen children, nine of them under five and two babies in cribs—orphaned, neglected, or abandoned. Others had only one parent and no one to care for them while the parent worked.</div>
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<img alt="" class="size-medium wp-image-3608 aligncenter" data-attachment-id="3608" data-comments-opened="1" data-image-description="" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"0"}" data-image-title="Bethel Beach Christmas001" data-large-file="https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg?w=433" data-medium-file="https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg?w=300" data-orig-file="https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg" data-orig-size="433,286" data-permalink="https://allbettsareoff.wordpress.com/2018/12/11/the-christmas-i-learned-about-my-heavenly-father-annalee-conti/bethel-beach-christmas001/#main" height="264" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" src="https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg?w=300&h=198" srcset="https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg?w=300&h=198 300w, https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg?w=150&h=99 150w, https://allbettsareoff.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/bethel-beach-christmas001.jpg 433w" style="clear: both; display: block; height: auto; margin: 1em auto; max-width: 100%;" width="400" /></div>
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Bethel Beach Children’s Home in Juneau, Alaska, c. 1950</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: -0.7px;">I am the girl in the back row second from left</span></div>
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My dad worked full time to support our family and the home. My mother cared for all the children as well as doing the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning. We children did our assigned chores, but Mother was usually without other adult help. Both parents provided us with a lot of love and Christian training.</div>
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That year, every night until December 24, when I knelt to say my bedtime prayers, I asked Jesus to give me that beautiful bride doll for Christmas. My request wasn’t very significant to anyone but me. You might even say it was selfish. It certainly would not change the course of history if I didn’t receive that doll.</div>
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Christmas morning, when we children, wide-eyed with expectation, tripped down the stairs and peeked into the large living room, we discovered gaily wrapped presents under the tree for each of us. The tags all read, “From Jesus.” When I unwrapped my gift, the beautiful doll I’d prayed for lay inside.</div>
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Years later, my mother told me the rest of the story. That Christmas Eve, Behrends, the only department store in Juneau at that time, had invited my parents to come down to the store to pick out gifts for all the children—free of charge. Among the unsold toys, she found the bride doll for me.</div>
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That Christmas, this young girl learned that the God who created the Universe cares about every detail of her life, including what she wanted for Christmas. And to this day, that sense of my Heavenly Father’s love has never left me.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: -0.7px;">Other books by AnnaLeeConti available at </span><a href="http://www.annaleeconti.com/books.html" style="letter-spacing: -0.7px;">www.AnnaLeeConti.com/books.html</a></div>
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-69752223725244298132019-12-20T14:46:00.000-05:002019-12-20T14:47:37.656-05:00Significance of the Swaddling ClothsI just realized it's been more than a month since I wrote a blog post. In addition to doctors' visits, preparations for Christmas, and several snowstorms, I've been working hard on my new writing project--a book which I'm titling <b><i>Following in Footsteps of Faith</i>.</b> It is a sequel to <i><b>Frontiers of Faith</b></i>, the story of my grandparents, Charles & Florence Personeus, pioneer missionaries to Alaska, 1917-1982. The new book tells the faith-building true stories of my adventures in following in their footsteps even from early childhood.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy Google.com</td></tr>
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Before I continue work on my new book, I want to pause and wish you all a blessed Christmas and God's best in the New Year.<br />
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From the first Christmas I can remember until now, my family has always read the Christmas story from Matthew and Luke on Christmas Eve. We've sung the carols and reenacted the precious story every year in church. This year, however, I gained insight into the wondrous story that I had never known previously: the significance of the swaddling cloths to the shepherds.<br />
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Bethlehem, meaning "House of Bread," is only 5 miles from Jerusalem. King David watched his father's sheep on the hillsides around Bethlehem, the town designated in Micah 5:1 as the birthplace of the coming Messiah, who would be called "The Bread of Life."<br />
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Mary and Joseph lived in Nazareth, near the Sea of Galilee, about 80 miles north of Bethlehem. We all know the Bible story of the taxation census ordered by Caesar Augustus that required all men to return to their hometowns to register. Joseph, as well as Mary, were both of the lineage of King David. In spite of Mary's advanced pregnancy, she accompanied Joseph on the journey. As they arrived in Bethlehem, she went into labor.<br />
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Bethlehem at that time was overwhelmed with travelers who had come to register. Frantically, Joseph searched for a room. All he could find was a shepherd's cave. At least it was clean and provided shelter. Mary gave birth and wrapped the Babe in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger, a feeding trough for animals. This fact is mentioned three times within 20 verses in Luke 2, calling attention to its importance.<br />
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Out on the hillside, shepherds were watching their sheep that night. Suddenly, the angel of the Lord appeared to them and announced the birth of "Christ the Lord," saying,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-Gwlk34m4EpE3MGfHKXXGDeOgzqQh7yL5mTCQ0A_P51AF-sNaqYA146TgwTD9dcuHZb1vvLsS6SWgNv40Pf9IQ_721gVvYL0x9XEPQSLMs7d5lN1NeeNKceM3_FS3rX5NbrQUPe-yE8/s1600/Shepherds+%2526+Angels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="246" data-original-width="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-Gwlk34m4EpE3MGfHKXXGDeOgzqQh7yL5mTCQ0A_P51AF-sNaqYA146TgwTD9dcuHZb1vvLsS6SWgNv40Pf9IQ_721gVvYL0x9XEPQSLMs7d5lN1NeeNKceM3_FS3rX5NbrQUPe-yE8/s1600/Shepherds+%2526+Angels.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy Pinterest.com</td></tr>
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<b>And this will be the sign to you: you will find the Babe wrapped in </b></div>
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<b>swaddling cloth, lying in a manger.</b></div>
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The message was punctuated by the singing of a radiant angelic choir:</div>
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<b>Glory to God in the highest,</b></div>
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<b>And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!</b></div>
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Now, these were not ordinary shepherds. The shepherds of Bethlehem were "Levitical Shepherds," chosen and trained to take care of the sheep that were to be used as sacrificial lambs in the Temple in nearby Jerusalem.<br />
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The Law of Moses required that the sacrificial lambs be "spotless and without blemish." To assure that, special treatment was required. When an ewe was ready to give birth, she was taken to a special birthplace, a cave designated for the birth of the sacrificial lambs. The newborn lamb was carefully wrapped in swaddling cloths, bandage-like strips of cloth to protect it from blemish, and laid in the manger there.<br />
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When the shepherds heard the angel's news, they knew immediately where they could go to see the Baby--to their cave where the sacrificial lambs were born.<br />
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As soon as the angels went back into heaven, the shepherds hurried to see the newborn Babe, the One of whom John the Baptist later called "The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29).<br />
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Today, amid all the tinsel, lights, sounds, and gifts, let's not forget "the Reason for the Season"!<br />
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The Sacrificial Lamb is now our Shepherd.<br />
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He is Emanuel, God with us!<br />
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He is the the Lamb without spot or blemish--the One who was in all points tempted as we are yet without sin, the One who can sympathize with our weaknesses and give us help in our time of need. Praise His wonderful Name!<br />
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Consider giving a book for Christmas. See <a href="http://annaleeconti.com/books.html">http://annaleeconti.com/books.html</a><br />
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<br />AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-12416899013105380752019-11-14T17:00:00.003-05:002019-11-14T17:00:55.120-05:00Beauty for Ashes<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJPT9XP1NFwJH7uChiXzIcb6ZTiCotyUat5pJ1negQYJZQsLPqNeacedE7gOwWssZdNL0pBWHS5qMngUbFTnb91fk3Ef4JZhAACM0CiqbsFpmK7IatCMpUJb2WqFN9K0Ly6h-6msSGtOU/s1600/Mt+St+Helens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="273" height="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJPT9XP1NFwJH7uChiXzIcb6ZTiCotyUat5pJ1negQYJZQsLPqNeacedE7gOwWssZdNL0pBWHS5qMngUbFTnb91fk3Ef4JZhAACM0CiqbsFpmK7IatCMpUJb2WqFN9K0Ly6h-6msSGtOU/s640/Mt+St+Helens.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
On that clear Sunday morning of May 18, 1980, my mother walked the two blocks from their house to the church they pastored in Kittitas, Washington. When she stepped out the door, she noticed a small cloud on the southwest horizon. By the time she arrived at the church, billows of dark ash clouds boiled overhead, blocking out the sun, turning the day to night in just a few minutes.<br />
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That was the day Mt. St. Helens, a volcano in the Cascade Mountains of Washington, blew its top. The eruption was witnessed by vulcanologist David Johnston, who was camped on a ridge 6 miles from the volcano, and Keith and Dorothy Stoffel, who were making an aerial survey of the volcano that morning. Miraculously, they lived to tell their stories.<br />
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At 8:32 a.m., a local magnitude 5.1 earthquake set off a landslide on the lip of the crater. Within seconds, the whole north face of the mountain began to move and collapsed, releasing super-heated gases and trapped magma in a massive cloud. Hot gases and rock debris were blown out of the mountain face at nearly supersonic speeds, wiping out everything within 8 miles almost instantly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1eOeSf0hn5TqTnVUFTC-m_kjUrISVJixzVpS9Hm33swUXI1hrVBgUcJfAaJx_Kv9DOOOSgnzcjCia3MwuJ68dbS0Dgso4dAX9eOg-cEl2k4kbABDW1ZOeh3C8_56zZCjOR6yrV_E0jQ/s1600/eruption+Mt+St+Helens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1eOeSf0hn5TqTnVUFTC-m_kjUrISVJixzVpS9Hm33swUXI1hrVBgUcJfAaJx_Kv9DOOOSgnzcjCia3MwuJ68dbS0Dgso4dAX9eOg-cEl2k4kbABDW1ZOeh3C8_56zZCjOR6yrV_E0jQ/s1600/eruption+Mt+St+Helens.jpg" /></a></div>
The shock wave rolled over the forest for another 19 miles, leveling century-old trees, leaving all the trunks neatly aligned to the north. Beyond this downed-tree zone, the forest remained standing but was seared lifeless. The area devastated by the direct force covered nearly 230 square miles.<br />
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Shortly after the lateral blast, a second vertical explosion occurred at the summit of the volcano, sending a mushroom cloud of ash and hot gases more than 12 miles into the atmosphere.<br />
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During the next 9 hours, about 540 million tons of ash from Mt. St. Helens fell like rain over an area of more than 22,000 square miles. The total volume of the ash before its compaction by rainfall was about 0.3 cubic mile, equivalent to an area the size of a football field piled about 150 miles high with fluffy ash. My sister lived in Yakima, about 85 miles northeast of the volcano. She measured 7 inches of ash on her porch. In the next valley north, ash accumulated to 4 inches on my parents' porch--like snow, but it didn't melt. When I visited my family 2 months later, it was just blowing around in the wind and making everything gritty, even my teeth!<br />
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Heat from the initial eruption melted and eroded the glacial ice and snow around the remaining part of the mountain. The water mixed with dirt and debris to create mud flows, which reached speeds of 90 mph and demolished everything in their path.<br />
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<span style="color: #262626;">The 1980 Mt. St. Helens eruption was the most destructive in U.S. history. Fifty-seven people died, and thousands of animals were killed, according to the U. S. Geologic Survey. More than 200 homes were destroyed, and more than 185 miles of roads and 15 miles of railways were damaged. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #262626;">Ash clogged sewage systems, damaged cars and buildings, and temporarily shut down air traffic over the Northwest. The International Trade Commission estimated damages to timber, civil works, fisheries, and agriculture to be $1.1 billion. </span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">Hot ash caused forest fires, and snow melt from the top of the mountain caused floods. </span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">Volcanic ash spread across the Northwest. More than 900,000 tons of ash were cleaned up from areas around Washington.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. St. Helens ash</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe;"><span style="color: #262626;">Today, scientists keep a close watch on Mount St. Helens and other volcanoes in the Pacific Northwest. The volcano's location on the Cascadian Subduction Zone means another eruption is inevitable.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">Yet, out of the ashes and destruction has come beauty. The ash has made the farmlands of Washington </span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">even more fertile. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">While Mt. St. Helens lost over 1,300 feet in height (previously, the mountain was 9,677 feet; it is now 8,365 feet) and scenic Spirit Lake was severely impacted, over time, the landscape is recovering. Different but still beautiful, it still attracts tourists.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroLTXhxxuyKtdEyzplJ9zoayis8vdGWEpTcjw5EoqH0KCjF-pgZFWPJERQyZ874fy4pOOEHmrcj-B3fQJu-FKg0twZqm0sq1m8ypgEx3dpRTEKr_T5J0P7AqwSdJJ9J-E2KFgkQjNxPc/s1600/Helenite+ovals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="340" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroLTXhxxuyKtdEyzplJ9zoayis8vdGWEpTcjw5EoqH0KCjF-pgZFWPJERQyZ874fy4pOOEHmrcj-B3fQJu-FKg0twZqm0sq1m8ypgEx3dpRTEKr_T5J0P7AqwSdJJ9J-E2KFgkQjNxPc/s320/Helenite+ovals.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helenite also comes in shades of blue and red.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">Unexpected and even more surprising, while cleaning up after the eruption, it was accidentally discovered that, when heated, the elements in the volcanic rock and ashes would fuse to form a rich, green gem similar to an emerald. The process was later perfected in strict lab conditions to create the magnificent deep green Helenite gemstone. Called Helenite or Mt. St. Helens Emerald, it has earned the title "America's Emerald." With its sparkle, color, and cut, it delivers the beauty of precious emeralds without the big price tag.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">Isn't that just like our God? In Isaiah 61:3, He promised to comfort all who mourn:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">To give them beauty for ashes, </span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">the oil of joy for mourning, </span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; </span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">that they may be called trees of righteousness, </span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">the planting of the Lord, </span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">that He may be glorified.</span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">As I look back over my life, I remember times when I felt my life was in ashes. But God has made something beautiful out of the devastation. Can you think of a time when God turned your ashes into something beautiful?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #262626;"><b>Note:</b> I'm still struggling to get my blood pressure down to normal. Still getting many tests and trying new meds. Significant deterioration in my cervical and lumbar spine has been discovered, and physical therapy is recommended. That will be time consuming. I will still make my new book a priority. I'm making good progress. And I will try to write a blog post from time to time. Thank you for your continued prayers. </span></div>
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-54750694212353729812019-11-01T17:35:00.000-04:002019-11-01T17:35:58.449-04:00It's Time to Pray!We have a collection of old <i>Ideals</i> books I inherited from my Personeus grandparents. Every fall, my husband gets them off the shelf to browse through them. Full of colorful pictures, poems, and short stories, they bring to our remembrance days or yore. We especially enjoy the fall scenes.<br />
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In our 1956 <i>Old Fashioned </i>Issue of<i> Ideals</i>, I came across a letter that is so apropos it could have been written about America today:<br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>We have been the recipients of the </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>choicest bounties of Heaven; </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>we have grown in numbers, wealth, and power</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i> as no other nation has grown. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>But we have forgotten God. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>We have forgotten the gracious hand </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>which preserved us in peace </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us, </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>and we have vainly imagined, </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>in the deceitfulness of our hearts, </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>that all these blessings were produced </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. Intoxicated with unbroken success, </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>we have become too self-sufficient </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>to feel the necessity of </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>redeeming and preserving grace,</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>too proud to pray to </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>the God that made us.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i> --Abraham Lincoln</i></b></span></div>
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My heart breaks when I hear the attacks on our Judeo-Christian heritage. I'm reminded of a song I used to sing as a teenager, "It's time to Pray." </div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>It's time to pray to the God who watches o'er us;</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>It's time to seek His help without delay;</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>The world is dark for the clouds of war still threaten;</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>It's time for all America to pray.</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>If we would keep the flag of freedom flying,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>Secure the peace for which we all are crying,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>It's time to pray--our sin and wrong confessing,</i></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><i>It's time for all America to pray!</i></span></b></div>
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It's up to us as people of God!<br />
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<b>If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land (2 Chronicles 7:14, NKJV).</b><br />
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<b>Update on my health: </b>I've been kept busy with doctors' appointments and all kinds of test trying to get to the cause of my uncontrolled blood pressure. Continuing to try new medications to find ones that help. More tests scheduled. But I continue to look to the Lord, my Healer. Appreciate your continued prayers for me. Thank you!</div>
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<br />AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-64563469750929345622019-10-11T10:49:00.000-04:002019-10-11T11:21:02.659-04:00In Sickness and In Health<br />
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It's been nearly a month since I've written a blog. I've been working hard on another book, <i>Following in the Footsteps of Faith</i>, a sequel to <i>Frontiers of Faith, </i>which tells the story of my grandparents, Charles and Florence Personeus and their miraculous faith journey as pioneer missionaries in Alaska, 1917-1982.<br />
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The sequel describes the faith journeys of my parents and myself as we too stepped out by faith into a life of ministry in Alaska and beyond.<br />
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Last week, a health crisis interrupted everything. Wednesday morning, I went in for cataract surgery. It would be more complicated than most because of my hereditary Fuchs Corneal Dystrophy, and I was a bit anxious about all the possible complications. Recalling God's promises and hymns I'd memorized many years ago, I tried to calm myself.<br />
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That morning, as I was being prepared for the procedure, my blood pressure skyrocketed to a life-threatening level. The surgery was canceled, and I was sent immediately to the ER by ambulance. Scary!<br />
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The ER was packed with sick people in the cubicles as well as lining the halls. I was taken right into a cubicle where a multitude of medical personnel began tests that ruled out heart attack, but they said I was in danger of stroke and kidney failure.<br />
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After many hours in the ER, many tests, and new medications, the pressure was not coming down. My left arm was swollen and red from the painful tightening of the BP cuff every few minutes.<br />
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In spite of meditating on God's Word and silently humming my favorite hymns, my anxiety level rose even higher. Of course, that didn't help my blood pressure.<br />
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As I lay on the extremely uncomfortable gurney, which aggravated my already chronically painful back and neck, my head was now aching too. It was a catch-22 situation. I felt hopeless. Tears flooded my eyes.<br />
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I tried to hide my distress over the situation, but my husband, Bob, who had been with me from the moment I arrived, noticed. Alarmed, he rose from his chair and and handed me a tissue. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiigtg9x_Zm_kOKga5RCLoe6yeSaITsB5yoWae7XwkX9qefKhXRqSYQE2NtWcau2GVXOl8srj-4lvuMJJN3FyfWRs0s7FSm2OtDRFUFNKO6Epyj6GhcEHIFofFcvAuB7u81bxBc3mVww-0/s1600/Our+Wedding+1967003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiigtg9x_Zm_kOKga5RCLoe6yeSaITsB5yoWae7XwkX9qefKhXRqSYQE2NtWcau2GVXOl8srj-4lvuMJJN3FyfWRs0s7FSm2OtDRFUFNKO6Epyj6GhcEHIFofFcvAuB7u81bxBc3mVww-0/s1600/Our+Wedding+1967003.jpg" /></a><br />
I shrugged, but I didn't need to explain. He held my hand.<br />
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"I love you," I was finally able to say.<br />
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"Why are you saying that now?" he asked.<br />
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"Because you're here." And his eyes filled with tears too.<br />
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It was a special moment. In our marriage vows more than 52 years ago, he had promised to love me "in sickness and in health." And he was again keeping that promise.<br />
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After 30 hours in the ER and a trial and error of medicines and much prayer, my blood pressure finally lowered sufficiently that I could be moved to a regular room late Thursday afternoon. But it was still high.<br />
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By Friday afternoon, my systolic blood pressure had lowered to the mid one hundred fifties, and I was cleared to go home with a handful of new medications and a low sodium diet.<br />
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I do not tolerate medications very well. I was instructed to take the meds before breakfast. The next morning, I threw them all up. And I felt weak, shaky, and lightheaded all day every day until I saw my cardiologist yesterday (Thursday). She now has me taking them with food and spread throughout the day. So far, so good. I hope I'll be able to function normally again.<br />
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Through it all, Bob has been my nurse, chef, and constant companion "in sickness and in health." He does it all without a complaint. He is an example of love in action. When God gave me my husband, He gave me a good gift!<br />
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As I continue to prepare my new book for publication, I may not be able to write my blog as often. A lot depends on my health too. But I'll keep you informed. And I appreciate your prayers.<br />
<br />AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-12951815075171276542019-09-12T16:28:00.001-04:002019-09-12T16:28:10.717-04:00Look to the End!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRBAh0FjnYILvBkW3XJKLo13QecrOZ2BKTJRjvHXda2QVslK0x6gFCpzmeof7cwQ5o5WlLd_jgF6LxvcEou7Ja7JiOc6g83qABshx8gyxnIGLCDwR6E7AWnUboIIqqPltg4fODrA8qaE/s1600/Diogenes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="201" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRBAh0FjnYILvBkW3XJKLo13QecrOZ2BKTJRjvHXda2QVslK0x6gFCpzmeof7cwQ5o5WlLd_jgF6LxvcEou7Ja7JiOc6g83qABshx8gyxnIGLCDwR6E7AWnUboIIqqPltg4fODrA8qaE/s320/Diogenes.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diogenes</td></tr>
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Diogenes, a renowned pagan thinker of ancient Greece, set up a tent in the marketplace of Athens with a sign which read, "Wisdom sold here."<br />
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One of the citizens laughed at the idea and sent a servant with twelve cents in Greek coins, saying, "Go and ask that braggart how much wisdom he will let you have for twelve cents."<br />
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When the servant delivered the money and the message to Diogenes, the latter answered, "Tell this to your master: '<b>In all your actions look to the end.</b>'"<br />
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When the servant brought this message home, his master was so pleased with it that he had the words painted in gold over the entrance of his house so that he and everyone else entering his home might be reminded of the end of life. Even the mere natural virtue seemed to him very valuable.<br />
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This message should speak to us as Christians today. The Apostle Paul reminds us that "<b>we will all stand before the judgment seat of God. Yes, each of us will give a personal account to God</b>" (Romans 14:10, 12, NLT).<br />
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With the death of my 97-year-old father a few weeks ago, I've been reminded that even a long life is short. This life is our preparation for eternity.<br />
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The psalmist says that our life on this earth is like the flowers of the field that flourish briefly and then are blown away by the wind and remembered no more (103:15, 16).<br />
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If we live our lives with the end in mind and make our choices in the light of eternity, God will be able to say to us, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"<br />
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A plaque that always hung on my Personeus grandparents' wall pointed out,<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><b>Only one life, twill soon be past;</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><b>Only what's done for Christ will last.</b></span></div>
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And a chorus I learned as a child has influenced my daily choices throughout my life:</div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><b>With eternity's values in view, Lord,</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><b>With eternity's values in view;</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><b>May I do each day's work for Jesus,</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><b>With eternity's values in view.</b></span></div>
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Are you living your life in the light of eternity? Or, do temporal values rule your life? What choices do you need to make today in the light of the fact that you will one day stand before God and give account of your life to Him?</div>
AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-39875231045509314562019-09-05T17:48:00.000-04:002019-09-05T17:48:04.277-04:00The Dash<ol style="background-color: white; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<li class="first" style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 0px;">It's been two weeks since my dad went to his eternal home. Today, I've been reading through papers I brought home from his file cabinet. I came across an unmarked folder containing several poems I recognized as ones he had mentioned often in his last few years.</li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One poem by Linda Ellis is titled, "The Dash." It refers to the dates of our birth and death </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">separated by a dash</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> on our tombstone. We have no control over those dates. What really matters is the dash--what we did with our lives between those dates. By making a conscious choice to live our lives with passion and purpose, we can make our mark on the world and leave it a better place than we found it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My dad lived his dash serving God and others. His dash was well spent. While he accomplished many things in his life, he will be remembered most for the person he was. As a Christian, loving husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, pastor, leader, he lived what he preached. He walked his talk. He set an example of honesty and integrity. We cherish the memory of </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">his love, </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">his encouragement, and his friendly smile.</span></div>
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<li class="first" style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 0px;">Another paper I found is a song sheet of the bluegrass gospel song, "Angel Band," written by Jefferson Hascall, in 1860, and sung by several popular singers, including Johnny Cash.</li>
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<li class="first" style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
My latest sun is sinking fast,</div>
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My race is nearly run;</div>
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My strongest trials now are past,</div>
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My triumph is begun.</div>
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<li class="refrain" style="list-style-type: none; margin-left: 20px; margin-top: 1em;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">Refrain:</span></div>
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Oh, come, angel band,</div>
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Come and around me stand;</div>
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Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings</div>
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To my eternal home;</div>
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Oh, bear me away on your snowy wings</div>
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To my eternal home.</div>
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<li style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 1em;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I know I’m near the holy ranks</div>
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Of friends and kindred dear—</div>
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I hear the waves on Jordan’s banks,</div>
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The crossing must be near.</div>
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<li style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 1em;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I’ve almost reached my heav’nly home,</div>
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My spirit loudly sings;</div>
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Thy holy ones, behold, they come!</div>
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I hear the noise of wings.</div>
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<li style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 1em;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, bear my longing heart to Him,</div>
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Who bled and died for me;</div>
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Whose blood now cleanses from all sin,</div>
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And gives me victory.</div>
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<li style="list-style-type: none; margin-top: 1em;"><div style="text-align: left;">
In the past few years in our nightly phone calls, my dad often told me he was longing for heaven and sang this song. His singing is now silenced in this life, but I'm sure he has joined heaven's choir. While I miss him, and a day no longer feels complete without my phone call to him, I know he is together again with my mother, and above all, with the Savior he loved and served so faithfully. I would not wish him back.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As David of old said at the death of his son, "He cannot return to me, but I can go to him." (I paraphrase 2 Samuel 12:23.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I want to live my dash as my father did until the day God calls me home.</span></div>
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-84812038859331425032019-08-29T17:11:00.000-04:002019-08-29T17:11:08.427-04:00Here, There, or in the Air<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad, Robert E. "Bob" Cousart</td></tr>
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This week since my father's death, many memories have washed over me. For the past seven years since my mother's death, I have called him every day. This week, at the end of each day, I've had a nagging feeling that there was something I still needed to do. Then I'd realize that I miss that phone call to my dad. The day seems incomplete.<br />
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This week, I've talked with many friends and family members by phone and internet, notifying them of his passing. They often shared their memories of him with me.<br />
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One longtime pastor friend from the Kittitas Valley Ministerial Association told me that even though they disagreed on minor points of theology, my dad never let that stand in the way of cooperation and friendship with the other pastors. He said in the forty years they knew each other, he always felt encouraged after being with my dad.<br />
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After my mother died, that pastor would pick my dad up from his residence at Hearthstone Cottage and take him to the church service that pastor conducted every Wednesday afternoon at Dry Creek Assisted Living, where Daddy had lived with my mother. When he dropped my dad back at Hearthstone, he'd say, "God bless you!" And my dad would always respond, "He does!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvU_mym1HDGLzCT11XXHEbkIDVarTMl7JrMVtMLqKHl2FE-pGk7wadwJB1fHhiLCZv27XgSLEiqEZ_VKolqplUXOzEKR8ENW2av_VuIorLvPxFiyH66T7a3cLG1uqv9igupG87P_G0kE/s1600/10369080_10152238493904412_6334153187649796636_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvU_mym1HDGLzCT11XXHEbkIDVarTMl7JrMVtMLqKHl2FE-pGk7wadwJB1fHhiLCZv27XgSLEiqEZ_VKolqplUXOzEKR8ENW2av_VuIorLvPxFiyH66T7a3cLG1uqv9igupG87P_G0kE/s320/10369080_10152238493904412_6334153187649796636_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy on the phone</td></tr>
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Then my dad would say, "Here, there, or in the air!" That was his farewell to us too whenever we left his apartment to return to our home in New York. He was always anticipating Jesus' return.<br />
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Many people have commented on what a sweet guy my dad was. He always had a friendly smile, words of encouragement, and a ready prayer for everyone, but no one ever felt he was pushy.<br />
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And he loved to sing and worship the Lord. During our last visit, he slept a lot. I did a lot of sorting through papers and greetings cards he'd received over the past 10 to 15 years. Whenever he'd wake up, he'd look over at me and give me a beatific smile. Whenever he was in pain or struggling to get out of his reclining chair, even with help from the aides, he would pray aloud, "Oh, Jesus, help me." Then he'd begin to praise the Lord.<br />
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He had arranged for a direct burial. Yesterday, we learned from the funeral director that he had even completed the paperwork for ordering his VA headstone with the phrase, "Looking for the Blessed Hope!" in the last line. That was my dad. Always prepared to go or stay. And encouraging each of us to join him "Here, there, or in the air!"<br />
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Here's a poem I wrote several years ago. I think this is what Daddy would say to us now if he could:<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;">DON’T
MOURN FOR ME<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Don’t mourn for me; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m in a better
place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Don’t mourn for me <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">For I can see His
face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Don’t mourn for me; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m happier than I
can tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Don’t mourn for me; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My body’s strong and
well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Don’t mourn for me; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Just plan to see me
soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Don’t mourn for me; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Be ready—morning,
night, or noon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> —AnnaLee Conti<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My dad's story is included in my book, <i><b>Frontiers of Faith</b></i>, and was the inspiration for characters in my <b>Alaskan Waters Trilogy</b>. Find them on my website: </span><a href="http://annaleeconti.com/books.html">http://annaleeconti.com/books.html</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"> </span> AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-61677357782125173152019-08-23T16:57:00.001-04:002019-08-24T08:52:51.821-04:00My Daddy Died Today<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgue05Z3ZFFDzVOLUk1hpQabw73fI5ZQvenbUdUpoT2cvFYt-d4lYeQuarn0z46mAlc4AexFwsaM4RcV15cjfIsnqgmWktk52DxI2vYl-nZ6HkAm_xWPLNTwEUmZFyJ0-NGqi6c3L3yfkQ/s1600/Robert+E+Cousart+at+80043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="467" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgue05Z3ZFFDzVOLUk1hpQabw73fI5ZQvenbUdUpoT2cvFYt-d4lYeQuarn0z46mAlc4AexFwsaM4RcV15cjfIsnqgmWktk52DxI2vYl-nZ6HkAm_xWPLNTwEUmZFyJ0-NGqi6c3L3yfkQ/s320/Robert+E+Cousart+at+80043.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rev. Robert E. Cousart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
How blessed I have been to have my father with me for all of my 73 years!<br />
<br />
Holley Gerth wrote, "One of the greatest blessings God can give us is a father whose faith passes on the heritage of the past, provides blessings in the present, and guides us with wisdom for the future."<br />
<br />
That was my father. He led us in God's ways by steadfast example. He taught us his values, raised us with love, always showed us respect.<br />
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He's been my dad. He's been my friend. And even now that he's gone, I will always continue to feel the power of his unconditional love. He will always be my guiding light.<br />
<br />
My husband and I visited him for two-and-a-half weeks this summer. The day we left, he prayed for us. His voice was not as strong, but his prayer was just as powerful.<br />
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He had been in failing health over the course of this year. Since we live clear across the country from him, I knew it would probably be the last time I'd see him in this life. A week later, he showed symptoms of a stroke, and his condition deteriorated rapidly. The doctors said the small tumors discovered in his lungs earlier this year had grown remarkably. They believed it to be lung cancer metastasized to his brain that was causing the stroke-like symptoms.<br />
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His doctor in the emergency room remarked on how his praising the Lord and singing hymns blessed the staff as they cared for him until he was unable to talk.<br />
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This morning, a longtime friend who had been a teenager in one of the churches he had pastored came into his room and found him laboring to breathe. She took his hand and said, "Pastor Bob, you're late! AnnaMae's waiting for you." He took one deep breath, breathed it out, and was gone to be with the Savior he has served so long and faithfully.<br />
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While I'm sad, I know this parting is only temporary. "We sorrow not as those who have no hope," the Apostle Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 4:13. What a day that will be when we all get to heaven never to be parted again!<br />
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Below is the eulogy I've written in celebration of my father, Robert Edward (Bob) Cousart:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Longtime valley pastor and former mayor of Kittitas, the Rev. Robert Edward (Bob) Cousart, died on August 23, 2019, after a short illness. He was 97. Rev. Cousart has pastored several churches in the Kittitas Valley since 1980 and served as mayor of Kittitas from 2005 to 2007.</span></b><br />
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Bob Cousart was born January 1, 1922, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Roy and Laura Jensen Cousart. As a youngster, he sang soprano in a prestigious Episcopal boys choir in the Philadelphia area. In the late 1930s, under the ministry of gospel singer, George Beverly Shea, Bob received Christ as his Savior and accepted God’s call to preach. Upon completion of high school, he enrolled in pre-theological studies at Temple University and received his Local Preacher’s License from the Methodist Church.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg91OCGYX98OvBPS4UDWEk9Jg34FhbKcy9g_n9Ate8opht5orIEfclF7u7TYdoA58SlNoeRIKDcgev2jyKZmztgct1bXWzaMgT91FjaCCSOiFuvgx0Exz2h17DkygDi09q3CvY_lBRaLo/s1600/11046286_10203057179870980_1125914260962539107_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg91OCGYX98OvBPS4UDWEk9Jg34FhbKcy9g_n9Ate8opht5orIEfclF7u7TYdoA58SlNoeRIKDcgev2jyKZmztgct1bXWzaMgT91FjaCCSOiFuvgx0Exz2h17DkygDi09q3CvY_lBRaLo/s320/11046286_10203057179870980_1125914260962539107_o.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newlyweds</td></tr>
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His studies were interrupted by World War II. In 1942, Bob joined the U.S. Coast Guard. Upon completing Radio School, he was sent to Ketchikan, Alaska, where on August 16, 1944, he met and married AnnaMae, daughter of the Reverend and Mrs. Charles C. Personeus, the first Assemblies of God missionaries to Alaska.<br />
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Following World War II, Bob completed his formal ministerial education at Eastern Bible Institute of the Assemblies of God (now the University at Valley Forge) in Pennsylvania. With their two toddlers, the couple moved to Pelican, Alaska, in 1948, to help the Personeuses build the church there.<br />
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That fall, the Cousarts moved to Juneau for the birth of their third child. From 1948 to 1958, Bob worked as Traffic Clerk and then Cargo Department Supervisor for Alaska Coastal Airlines to support their ministry. For five years they operated the Bethel Beach Children’s Home. Bob was also an active member of Bethel Assembly of God (now Juneau Christian Center), PTA president, and other civic affairs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnV4RKdhJq0ZSl-0KwtuH7iiuFTRXkE3ux-HyR3gLEfXiLd_KtrZGSmcruIebzOs3UG5EVxByG0ly8vr4j_odwaKV356OeX_DrPKY1qTe07mESXKmzknKlVSEXD5DMaXxLBUm5apYCxk/s1600/Robert+Edward+Cousart042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnV4RKdhJq0ZSl-0KwtuH7iiuFTRXkE3ux-HyR3gLEfXiLd_KtrZGSmcruIebzOs3UG5EVxByG0ly8vr4j_odwaKV356OeX_DrPKY1qTe07mESXKmzknKlVSEXD5DMaXxLBUm5apYCxk/s320/Robert+Edward+Cousart042.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pastoring in Pelican</td></tr>
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In 1958, Bob accepted the pastorate of the church in Pelican. Since Pelican had no high school, he also supervised the high school students’ correspondence courses.<br />
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In 1960, the Cousarts were called to pastor in Seward, Alaska, where Bob also served as PTA president and was elected president of the Seward School Board and clerk of the Kenai Peninsula Borough School Board, Secretary-Treasurer of the Unified Education Commission for the State of Alaska, and spiritual adviser for the Alaska State Board of the PTA. He also did longshoring at the docks several days a month.<br />
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On Good Friday, 1964, the Great Alaskan Earthquake that registered 9.2 on the Richter scale, the strongest earthquake to ever hit North America, along with three successive tsunamis, destroyed 95 percent of Seward’s industrial area as well as many homes and cut off all shipping, railway, and highway access. As president of the Seward Ministerial Association, he led the earthquake survivors in a combined church service on Easter morning.<br />
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That summer, Bob was elected Secretary-Treasurer of the newly-formed Alaska District Council of the Assemblies of God, which included serving as a member of the General Presbytery of the General Council of the Assemblies of God, posts he held until 1973.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedd45IabYG_vs98h6kHV18TACm9D-ol2kGqiLWafmBztsaWWZPjkyzvlx8wk4MWhB5XpBIqvKP_9r_NGKjBRnUHS-cpk20Ldil8dNFVozO_BeRD1rsCgC3JYt_NB4e4Q0C9KYggrieJY/s1600/11252171_10203057182551047_7291524453671342629_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1267" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedd45IabYG_vs98h6kHV18TACm9D-ol2kGqiLWafmBztsaWWZPjkyzvlx8wk4MWhB5XpBIqvKP_9r_NGKjBRnUHS-cpk20Ldil8dNFVozO_BeRD1rsCgC3JYt_NB4e4Q0C9KYggrieJY/s320/11252171_10203057182551047_7291524453671342629_o.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="253" /></a>In 1966, Bob was asked to pastor the Assembly of God in Valdez, another town hard-hit by the earthquake. Shortly after the Cousarts’ arrival, the entire town had to be moved five miles when the Coast and Geodetic Survey determined that as a result of the earthquake, the old town was sitting on a ledge that could break off into the bay at any time.<br />
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In 1972, the Cousarts moved to Fairbanks, the location of the offices of the Alaska District of the Assemblies of God at that time, to devote more time to his Secretary-Treasurer duties.<br />
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In 1973, the Cousarts returned to pastoring, accepting the call of the Assembly of God in Naches, Washington. Bob later pastored in Union Gap, Kittitas, and Ellensburg, and served as principal for a Christian school in the Kittitas Valley. He retired from active ministry in 1997.<br />
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At the age of 82, Bob was elected mayor of Kittitas, a position he held for two years, until the Cousarts moved to Dry Creek Assisted Living in Ellensburg. After his retirement, he taught the adult Sunday school class and served as secretary-treasurer of the church board at Family Christian Center until 2013. When his wife died in 2012, Bob moved to Hearthstone Cottage. In April 2019, he moved back to Pacifica Senior Living (formerly Dry Creek).<br />
<br />
Bob was well-known for his friendly smile and his love of singing. He and his wife, AnnaMae, sang together all their married life in churches and for funerals and weddings.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His 97th birthday</td></tr>
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Bob is survived by two daughters, Rev. AnnaLee (Robert) Conti of Beacon, New York; and Mrs. Kathleen (Thomas) McAlpine of Hoven, South Dakota; a son, Robert P. Cousart of Yakima, Washington; a foster daughter, Denia Schmidt of Anchorage, Alaska; thirteen grandchildren, and 23 great-grandchildren. He was predeceased by his wife; his parents; a brother, Jack F. Cousart of Lansdowne, Pennsylvania; and a foster daughter, Barbara Capjohn Chu, of Juneau, Alaska.<br />
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-40262688083886609292019-07-11T17:36:00.002-04:002019-08-15T11:03:11.464-04:00Change<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-U9_BRMhgGyhyphenhyphens6iOAUDd3POgA_kXOTgj0b_sd4MZTn3Mg98C3CX8ZUDPp1TLD4P7ByFeVbBx3ONA1h8YsC1CU0pUEAOIgbWGkp-5EpV8AQB1vEhFssJmFSqGN35LUW2pv7_jRGxTGI4/s1600/Child+by+Grumman+Goose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="737" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-U9_BRMhgGyhyphenhyphens6iOAUDd3POgA_kXOTgj0b_sd4MZTn3Mg98C3CX8ZUDPp1TLD4P7ByFeVbBx3ONA1h8YsC1CU0pUEAOIgbWGkp-5EpV8AQB1vEhFssJmFSqGN35LUW2pv7_jRGxTGI4/s320/Child+by+Grumman+Goose.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alaska Coastal Grumman Goose in Pelican</td></tr>
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This is vacation time around America. People take to the road, to the air, or to the sea. As I look back at the Twentieth Century, I am amazed at the changes that took place in air travel and in transportation in general during that time.<br />
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Now, 19 years into the Twenty-First Century, the changes in technology, and in communications, affecting every phase of life, would shock even my grandparents, who had lived through nearly a century of change. These only represent all of the changes we encounter in life that can amaze or unsettle anyone.<br />
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Every summer as a child in the fifties, I flew on an Alaska Coastal Airlines Grumman Goose from Juneau to Pelican, Alaska, to visit my Personeus grandparents for two or three months. The eight-passenger amphibious plane took off and landed on the waters of Southeast Alaska, where no roads connected the many islands, large and small. It flew up close and personal over the tops of snow-capped mountains and blue or stormy seas.<br />
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Since 2000, my husband and I have driven across the continent from New York to Washington State almost annually to visit friends and family, six to ten days each way. Now, we jet across the continent in six hours.<br />
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Born in 1888, my grandparents had already witnessed the transition from horse and buggy to the automobile and the Wright Brothers first flight by the time they went to Alaska in 1917. To get there, they traveled by train from Rochester, New York, to Buffalo, where they caught a steamer across Lake Erie to Detroit. From there, they again boarded other trains to take them across the country to the West Coast. In Seattle, they boarded another steamship to sail up the Inside Passage to Juneau. The entire trip took two months.<br />
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Regularly scheduled air travel around Southeast Alaska didn't begin until the mid-thirties, first with Ellis Airlines out of Ketchikan, and a few years later, with Alaska Coastal Airlines out of Juneau. Most people, however, traveled by boat--steamers, mail boats, or private fishing vessels. My grandparents didn't fly. Grandma was afraid to try it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BroRktsLhL070ajK_7rp_i2SIkh-ukJsN6QOGOgqwfWutY74vI9ksrqkIw5YMaiWc3aDJhlU3jApr2rXoYuOoquSkfFoFAs9vEPn1YT0Nc1hBwuIgxdIBFkCUUoPnOvaT9B8Vkj0pg8/s1600/Fairtide+II+in+Pelican+1947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BroRktsLhL070ajK_7rp_i2SIkh-ukJsN6QOGOgqwfWutY74vI9ksrqkIw5YMaiWc3aDJhlU3jApr2rXoYuOoquSkfFoFAs9vEPn1YT0Nc1hBwuIgxdIBFkCUUoPnOvaT9B8Vkj0pg8/s400/Fairtide+II+in+Pelican+1947.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fairtide II</i> in Pelican 1948</td></tr>
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After World War II, their son, Byron, began operating a gospel mission boat, <i>Fairtide II,</i> around Southeast Alaska. My grandparents joined him and his wife on the boat. When my parents returned to Alaska from Bible school in Pennsylvania, bringing me, a two-year-old, and my younger brother, Uncle Byron met us in Ketchikan with his mission boat and took us to Pelican to join the rest of the family in building the Pelican church. My earliest memory is of a big storm on that boat trip.<br />
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When my folks moved to Juneau for the birth of my sister in 1948, my dad was hired by Alaska Coastal Airlines as boss of cargo. As an employee, one of his perks was free air travel for him and our family. I began flying to Pelican when I was 3 years old. My father would put me in the seat next to the pilot. My grandparents would meet me at the float in Pelican, When it was time for me to return home, my dad would arrange for me to again sit by the pilot. My dad met me in Juneau.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvcqb7jIDYocmzk1RAr0-yckxXYB1P6DYIdZyqZ6KyPVmYZ-4FUX27QwabdLJJIlbMY_4qbWbbPUj0CZekAtTtSneQPpwEgHjyhXtMUZw3sIV9WcfNbAfm3uOHKAfBYyXNntaL1cHDzY/s1600/The+Hanger+in+Juneau+1953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="720" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvcqb7jIDYocmzk1RAr0-yckxXYB1P6DYIdZyqZ6KyPVmYZ-4FUX27QwabdLJJIlbMY_4qbWbbPUj0CZekAtTtSneQPpwEgHjyhXtMUZw3sIV9WcfNbAfm3uOHKAfBYyXNntaL1cHDzY/s400/The+Hanger+in+Juneau+1953.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alaska Coastal Airlines Grumman Goose at the Hangar in Juneau 1953</td></tr>
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Grandma was in her early sixties by then and had decided that flying was more than she could handle. The boat trips around the islands were bad enough, but to fly through thin air was more than she cared to experience. She thought she was too old to fly.<br />
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But one day as she put me, her eldest but still preschool-aged grandchild, on the Grumman Goose and saw me sit trustingly in the cockpit with the pilot who would deliver me to my father, she thought, "If that little child can put so much trust in her father's wishes, then I must overcome my fear of flying and trust my Heavenly Father to take care of me." After that, Grandma flew all over Alaska and the continental United States many times over the next 30 years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aOlq4-Xx8PeiycBDdADzhK40jr8B_szvunfoaxH388CIukiupZO80ovMwpTULeRv5tZw4oURXEyGpKjrrpBgDHA5dmDz83eJTPDcUxio9bQDyWUI-NoJcHnJ2FU0OyBxJeq8Mf2B9OE/s1600/PNA+Connie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="448" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aOlq4-Xx8PeiycBDdADzhK40jr8B_szvunfoaxH388CIukiupZO80ovMwpTULeRv5tZw4oURXEyGpKjrrpBgDHA5dmDz83eJTPDcUxio9bQDyWUI-NoJcHnJ2FU0OyBxJeq8Mf2B9OE/s320/PNA+Connie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PNA "Connie"</td></tr>
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In 1961, as a teenager, I was flying home from Seattle alone on a Pacific Northern Airlines "Connie," a popular, four-engine plane. As we flew over the rugged Chugach Mountains toward Anchorage, the propeller outside my window fluttered to a stop. My heart nearly stopped too!<br />
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The pilot made no announcement so I surmised we could make it to Anchorage on three engines, but staring down into sharp, snow-covered peaks that yawned like an open shark's jaw below, I shivered to think of crashing.<br />
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Then a still, small voice reminded me that "underneath are the Everlasting Arms." Since then, whenever I fly, I remind myself of that verse and sit back and enjoy the flight.<br />
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In 1968, Alaska Airlines bought up Alaska Coastal and Ellis Airlines, built runways in the towns along the Inside Passage, and began flying cargo and passenger jets into towns on islands with no road connections. Private and tourist float planes still land on the water in tiny villages such as Pelican and on beautiful inlets and coves to see glaciers and waterfalls, but jets now land on runways built out into the sea in the larger towns..<br />
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In 2017, Bob and I flew back to Juneau for the 100th anniversary celebration of the church my grandparents founded in 1917. We flew the evening Alaska Airlines Boeing 737 "milk run." Our flight stopped at Ketchikan and Sitka before landing in Juneau.<br />
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When we emerged from the fog at sea level at Sitka, all we could see was whitecaps beneath us until the wheels hit the runway. Surrounded by mountains and sea, with frequent stormy weather conditions, and waves crashing against it even on clear days, the runway at Sitka is considered one of the scariest in the US.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEhGGM_JxRDak4i8t0cYWR_vtfPsfmRJSXi0XYTu-6TbpEE7qZXPY5QGSxqiKzDQ_0OLU6PiM4f6zbAr0_X_rqlhr4_edrATv8_9-C5C3B5Jgb7EHIyyqCAkQJrdYM4Mdf5k1lFx3qJw/s1600/Landing+in+Sitka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEhGGM_JxRDak4i8t0cYWR_vtfPsfmRJSXi0XYTu-6TbpEE7qZXPY5QGSxqiKzDQ_0OLU6PiM4f6zbAr0_X_rqlhr4_edrATv8_9-C5C3B5Jgb7EHIyyqCAkQJrdYM4Mdf5k1lFx3qJw/s400/Landing+in+Sitka.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitka Airport</td></tr>
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I've been flying since 1948. When I think of all the changes, both good and bad, in my lifetime and add that to the changes in my grandparents' lifetime, I can't help but think of a line in that old hymn, Abide With Me:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Change and decay in all around I see; O Thou who changest not, abide with me." </b></div>
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And I am comforted that in all of life's changes, the Lord has been walking with me all the way. One day, He'll lead me safely Home.<br />
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If you'd like to read more about Alaska from gold rush to statehood and beyond, you may enjoy my historical books set in that time period. You can find them at <a href="http://annaleeconti.com/books.html">my website</a> (click here).<br />
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<br />AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-58114421722511454332019-07-04T08:32:00.004-04:002019-07-04T08:32:59.014-04:00Free To Be<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Painting by John Trumbull of Signing of the<br />
Declaration of Independence</td></tr>
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Two hundred forty-three years ago, 56 patriots signed the Declaration of Independence which gave us an independent nation--the United States of America.<br />
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The Declaration states, "All men are... are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."<br />
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Today, there is so much incendiary debate about just what rights we are entitled to that Congress gets nothing done. Everyone focuses on what is right for me instead of what is best for all of us. Politicians remind me of the old idiom, "Don't cut off your nose to spite your face." They are so against helping the other party get anything done that we all, including them, suffer.<br />
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<b>The truth is that while it's fine to <i>want </i>and <i>seek</i> life and liberty and to <i>pursue</i> happiness, we are not <i>entitled</i> to those things.</b><br />
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The Bible teaches that what we all really <i><b>deserve</b></i> is eternal punishment in hell because of our sin. But Ephesians 2:4 announces,<br />
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The good news of the gospel is that God doesn't give us what we deserve! Instead, because of His great love for humankind, He gives us His grace through the death and resurrection of His Son! What is grace? It is bestowing upon us all the good things we don't deserve--such as forgiveness and eternal life.<br />
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How does that great truth apply in our human relationships?<br />
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First, we need to recognize that we are <i>not</i> entitled to anything from anybody. Yet, American society is based on "entitlement," the attitude that we are <i>owed</i> only the good things in life.<br />
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<ul>
<li>Advertisements bombard us with the message, "You deserve a break today," or "You owe it to yourself to buy_______."</li>
<li>College graduates think they are owed a higher salary.</li>
<li>Parents feel their children owe them good behavior for all the things they do for them.</li>
<li>Senior citizens think younger people owe them respect.</li>
<li>People believe the government owes them everything--free health care, free college, and so on.</li>
<li>Illegal aliens deserve all the rights of citizens.</li>
<li>The rich owe the poor.</li>
</ul>
And the list goes on.<br />
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Christians seem to think God owes them a life free of trouble and suffering. But God doesn't owe us anything! He's already paid a debt we owed for sin that we could never repay.<br />
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The truth is, nobody owes anyone anything. To believe we deserve to get our needs met is arrogant. To expect special treatment as appropriate payment for what we do for someone else only invites anger, resentment, bitterness, and rebellion, which destroy relationships.<br />
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A sense of entitlement is self-serving, but focusing on how we can meet the needs of others fosters emotional well-being, cooperation, and mutual respect. Mutual giving builds relationships.<br />
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For our own well-being, we need to let go of feelings of entitlement. Instead, we need to follow God's example and practice grace!<br />
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Thank God for the freedom we have to be all we can be in Christ!<br />
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Happy Fourth of July!<br />
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-4763872571951740062019-06-27T16:12:00.000-04:002019-06-27T16:12:19.557-04:00How to Start Being What You'd Like to BecomeWhen I was a freshman at Seattle Pacific College (now University) in 1963-64, our dorm mother, Mrs. Marie Hollowell, often held meetings with us girls in her apartment. I'll never forget what she said at one such meeting:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;"><b>"When are you going to start being </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;"><b>what you'd like to become?"</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cousart & Personeus Family in Pelican Parsonage<br />
(I am front right of my brother & sister. My parents are on left. <br />
Grandma & Grandpa in center. <br />
Uncle Byron & Aunt Marjory Personeus on right.)</td></tr>
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As I heard those words, I thought of my Grandma Personeus. She was my role model. My brother, sister, and I had spent nearly every summer of my grade school years with her and Grandpa in Pelican, a tiny fishing village on a large island in Southeast Alaska.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelican in 1953</td></tr>
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Having young children night and day for three months is not easy when you are in your sixties, yet I could not recall Grandma ever speaking harshly or impatiently to any of us. She was always up and fixing breakfast when we got up in the morning and was the last one to go to sleep at night. After we were in bed, she wrote letters until the wee hours to keep up her correspondence with hundreds of people around the world in her beautiful schoolgirl handwriting. She was the sweetest person I knew, and she loved us and all the other children in town unconditionally.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The church in Pelican built by my family in 1948</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I thought about all the older women I had known. Some were sweet, and some were crotchety. Oh, they were good people, but no one was as consistently loving and kind as Grandma. I decided I'd like to become a sweet little old lady like her. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
As I recalled the stories Grandma had told us about her childhood, I realized she had not had an easy life. Her father was demanding, strict, and harsh. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
One time, she was bitten by a beetle that took a small chunk out of her nose. As children will, she kept picking at the scab so that it was not healing. Her father scolded her and promised to spank her if she did it again. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
The next morning she awoke to discover that her rough-textured nightgown had scratched the scab off. At the breakfast table her father noticed and told her to go to her room and await the promised punishment.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
A very sensitive child, she was so terrified of her father that when she tried to explain what had happened, she trembled so hard she couldn't speak coherently. Sobbing, all she could utter was, "My gruff gright grown scratched it off!"</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Her mother had to intervene and explain what she was trying to say.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
As children, we thought that story was funny, and that is how she told it, laughing at her twisted words. But thinking about it as an adult, I could see that it showed how much she feared her father.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
The eighth of eleven living children (two others had died in infancy), she was allowed to only complete the first eight grades, although she loved school and longed to go to high school. When her older brothers and sisters left home to be missionaries, Their father disowned and disinherited them for not doing what he wanted them to do. Grandma was forced to leave school and take over their chores of printing and distributing the newspaper her father wrote and published.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma & Grandpa Personeus in 1959</td></tr>
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When Grandma left home at the age of 21 to study for the missionfield, she too was disowned and disinherited. She was not allowed to return to the family home again. </div>
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By the time I went to college, she and Grandpa had spent nearly 50 years as missionaries in Southeast Alaska, living by faith under often less than favorable living conditions, but she never complained. She had survived many serious falls on ice and snow as well as several life-threatening illnesses, but she didn't let those hardships deter her from her mission, caring for the sick and taking in orphaned children, cleaning and washing clothes on a washboard.</div>
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As I pondered what made her different from so many others, I realized that she had allowed the trials of her life to make her better not bitter. She loved the Lord, communing with Him daily and continually putting the needs of others ahead of her own. She unselfishly served people out of love. Children and young people enjoyed being with her, listening to her stories of their early days in Alaska. She often told us,</div>
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<b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">"The way spell true J-O-Y is to put </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">Jesus first, Others second, and Yourself last."</span></b></div>
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My observations showed me that no one becomes like Grandma Personeus just by growing old. We become what we have practiced throughout our lives. Those who love and serve others in spite of their own difficulties grow sweeter, and people love to be around them. Those who think only of themselves grow even more selfish, and and people tend to avoid them.</div>
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As a freshman girl, I determined to become a sweet little old lady. That's been my life's goal. I've striven to that end. I'm old now, and I'm not completely there yet, but I'm still working on what I'd like to become--to be like Grandma, and to be like Jesus.</div>
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Are you becoming what you'd like to become? What do you need to change today?</div>
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To read more about the Personeuses, visit my website, <a href="http://www.annaleeconti.com/">www.annaleeconti.com</a>, where you can order my book, <i><b>Frontiers of Faith</b></i>, the story of Charles C. and Florence Personeus, Pioneer Missionaries to Alaska, "The Last Frontier," 1917-1982, directly from the publisher.</div>
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The Personeuses are the inspiration for my Alaskan Waters Trilogy, a set of inspirational novels based on true stories they told. (The Penningtons in my fiction stories are based on the Personeuses.) They are also available from my website.</div>
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-60173561558471883592019-06-20T13:02:00.000-04:002019-06-20T13:02:55.324-04:00Are You Flourishing?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kittitas Valley (with irrigation) where my parents have lived since 1980 (North Cascades in distance)</td></tr>
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When I visit my family in Central Washington State each summer, I am struck by the effects of irrigation. Without it, the landscape is a desert with only dusty-looking sagebrush, sand, and rocks. Wherever there are irrigation ditches, tall, green trees flourish.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Land between the Kittitas and Yakima Valleys without irrigation</td></tr>
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The primary industry of that region is the production of fruit: orchards of luscious apples, peaches, pears, apricots, prunes, cherries cover the hillsides everywhere, made possible by irrigation. My brother and two nieces have spent many years working in the fruit industry in the Yakima Valley.<br />
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In fact, about 11 billion apples are grown and handpicked in Washington State every year. According to the Washington Apple Commission: "If you put all of the Washington State apples picked in a year side-by-side, they would circle the earth 29 times."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My niece in one of their orchards</td></tr>
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Not only is Washington the nation's largest producer of apples, it holds the largest market share of red raspberries. Washington leads the nation in the production of twelve agricultural commodities:<br />
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Red raspberries, 90.5 percent of U.S. production</div>
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Hops, 79.3 percent</div>
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Spearmint Oil, 75 percent</div>
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Wrinkled seed peas. 70.4 percent</div>
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Apples, 71.7 percent</div>
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Grapes, Concord, 55.1 percent</div>
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Grapes, Niagara, 35.9 percent</div>
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Sweet cherries, 62.3 percent</div>
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Pears, 45.6 percent</div>
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Green peas, processing, 32.4 percent</div>
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Carrots (2011), 30.6 percent</div>
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Sweet corn, processing (2011), 29 percent</div>
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The land also abounds with wide fields of timothy grass (hay), wheat, alfalfa, corn, potatoes, carrots, peas, sunflowers, etc. And irrigation makes it all possible.<br />
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The words of Psalm One immediately come to my mind. It describes the righteous as being <b>"like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatsoever he does prospers"</b> (vv. 2, 3, NIV).<br />
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And Proverbs 11:30 says, <b>"The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life,"</b> and couples that with the thought that <b>"he who wins souls is wise." </b><br />
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In 1 Peter 3:15, we find two aspects of soul winning: (1) living the lifestyle that attracts people to ask you to give the reason for the hope that you have; and (2) the continual preparedness to win souls when the opportunity arises.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">To be soul winners, we must walk our talk!</span></b></div>
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Without water, trees do not flourish. Without Christ, we are dead in trespasses and sin. </div>
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One of the symbols of the Holy Spirit in the Bible is water. Just as water is necessary for physical life, so the "washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior" (Titus 3:5-6, NIV) is the means of our spiritual life and vitality. In order to win souls, we must first be "trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified" (Isaiah 61:3b, NKJV).</div>
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The Holy Spirit wants to grow the fruit of the Spirit in us: love, joy, peace, longsuffering [patience], kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Galatians 5:22, 23). Only then will we be effective soul winners.</div>
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Are we trees of righteousness? Are we flourishing? Are people attracted to Jesus in us?</div>
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O Holy Spirit, bathe us, refresh us, and renew us in His love and power! </div>
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Books by </span><a href="http://annaleeconti.com/books.html" style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">AnnaLee Conti </a>(click name to read more about her books)<br />
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AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-82983985620288283642019-06-13T14:30:00.000-04:002019-06-20T10:50:59.130-04:00The Everlasting ArmsOne of the joys my husband, Bob, experienced as a pastor was dedicating babies to the Lord.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My husband dedicating a baby to the Lord</td></tr>
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Just as Mary and Joseph brought the infant Jesus to the Temple to present Him to the Lord (see Luke 2:22), parents in our churches bring their youngsters at an early age to dedicate them to the Lord, promising to raise them "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." The church agrees to provide spiritual assistance through godly counsel, Christian education, and the fellowship of believers.<br />
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When the parents would place their child in Bob's arms for the prayer, the infant would usually rest quietly against his broad chest soothed by the full, resonant tones of his baritone voice.<br />
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One Sunday, however, as Bob prayed, the fussing baby began to wail and flail his arms and legs and would not be comforted. Bob just held him securely and kept right on praying. He felt bad for the embarrassed parents and frustrated that he had been unable to comfort the child.<br />
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After the service, a godly grandma in our congregation sought him out. "Oh, Pastor, what a beautiful dedication!"<br />
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Shocked, my husband listened as she continued, "As you were praying, I thought of how God always holds us in His arms. Sometimes life throws a lot of bad stuff at us and we struggle and fuss and squall. But in spite of that, God keeps on holding us securely in His strong arms."<br />
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Dottie Rambo wrote a beautiful song during a time when she was going through hard trials and God reminded her that she was held securely in God's strong arms of love, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61Q1mDT1QLM">Sheltered in the Arms of God</a>. (Click title to listen to her story and the song she wrote.) What a blessing this song has been to many! Often it is in the hard things God proves to us who He is and what He can do.<br />
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I love the promise God made through Moses in his final farewell to the Children of Israel in Deuteronomy 33:27, </div>
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<b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">"The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."</span></b></div>
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For more than seventy years, those arms have never failed me. </div>
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When you go through trials and troubles, remember that God's arms are everlasting. They never fail. As someone once wrote, <b>"With God behind you and His arms beneath you, you can face whatever lies ahead." </b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Books by <a href="http://annaleeconti.com/books.html">AnnaLee Conti</a> (Click here for more information)</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYz8FSAjD0_1vacMuw2WD54ysAo1n30LeGMBTTYBJMIgWz62ODiSL7tc0G5B-QkvbBgeucAuveXWElLDW6-2JHnsSUHvw9g0pP8hLwbPM7EvKGFhPc1S_8zID-wFlNTJbA-rcghbbSXY/s1600/Frontiers+of+faith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYz8FSAjD0_1vacMuw2WD54ysAo1n30LeGMBTTYBJMIgWz62ODiSL7tc0G5B-QkvbBgeucAuveXWElLDW6-2JHnsSUHvw9g0pP8hLwbPM7EvKGFhPc1S_8zID-wFlNTJbA-rcghbbSXY/s1600/Frontiers+of+faith.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-55238402828621693232019-06-07T16:12:00.002-04:002019-06-07T16:12:29.291-04:00Fear of the Dark<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYdqlXrmwXoivQKBQs6IAnBlqUiyQppfe2gI3RW55WRAE5QwAh2UcVckoxHiT8pZjD-Ego261tLbHVC8zMW2rlVnQpyISMKUoJGGFTXVLQrThNj7FcSdJFEv8aXObb0m2_dVIvJBPyn0/s1600/+The+Personeuses+1959001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="384" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHYdqlXrmwXoivQKBQs6IAnBlqUiyQppfe2gI3RW55WRAE5QwAh2UcVckoxHiT8pZjD-Ego261tLbHVC8zMW2rlVnQpyISMKUoJGGFTXVLQrThNj7FcSdJFEv8aXObb0m2_dVIvJBPyn0/s320/+The+Personeuses+1959001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandparents, Charles & Florence Personeus</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-G0-Cd75LFl2RRoxp1_KLRobKt22NhhWNd6BVlJFdmCD8boUHm3Uh37WHzQFg2qaNwQWch6K576qvIWc8uSVfVQs5Wq9CA-ir9AWmvEFwJIJ7tJN_4HTlc6dlyJIDoypb9zjr5POYgI/s1600/Child+by+Grumman+Goose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="737" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-G0-Cd75LFl2RRoxp1_KLRobKt22NhhWNd6BVlJFdmCD8boUHm3Uh37WHzQFg2qaNwQWch6K576qvIWc8uSVfVQs5Wq9CA-ir9AWmvEFwJIJ7tJN_4HTlc6dlyJIDoypb9zjr5POYgI/s320/Child+by+Grumman+Goose.jpg" width="230" /></a><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pelican Church with attached parsonage (left) in the Fifties</td></tr>
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As a child, when I visited my grandparents in Pelican, Alaska, each summer, my bed was in a huge room above the church sanctuary. To get to it, I had to climb two flights of stairs and then a few more steps and turn left into the dark room. There was no light switch on the wall. It took all the courage I could muster to run to the center of that room, heart pounding, and fling my hands high over my head until I located the single cord to pull to turn on the overhead light. The light quickly dispelled my fear.<br />
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I don't know why I was so afraid. I wasn't usually afraid of the dark. But going into that dark room spooked me.<br />
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<b>Isn't that like our fear of the unknown?</b><br />
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We are unsure of what lurks in the future. We imagine so many things that MAY happen--poverty, sickness, loss of loved ones, and the list can go on and on. We die a thousand deaths from fear of what tomorrow may bring.<br />
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In Matthew 6: 25-34, Jesus warned His disciples about worrying over the future. Essentially, He reminded them that God takes care of the birds and the flowers of the field. "Are you not of more value than they are?" He asked.<br />
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Then He told them that people seek after food, drink, and clothing, but their Heavenly Father knows they need these things.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit01yLu1rMHlqHfs3yUptTAEAqNGJv2s9S_vIjDTYR95thvh3BpwBz7OoePfT6t-y-PPyJcg6WVzw-Zqn9CZvXFley82189IwC2yuH5KP53Mb-PKiZM1jl3qH8VvRfaxgMjZ6fja-_v84/s1600/Matthew+6-33-34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit01yLu1rMHlqHfs3yUptTAEAqNGJv2s9S_vIjDTYR95thvh3BpwBz7OoePfT6t-y-PPyJcg6WVzw-Zqn9CZvXFley82189IwC2yuH5KP53Mb-PKiZM1jl3qH8VvRfaxgMjZ6fja-_v84/s640/Matthew+6-33-34.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy Google.com</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">In other words, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here are some of my favorite quotes about worry:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Worrying does not empty tomorrow of its troubles. It empties today of its strength."<b> </b></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9RwAh-umuKJ8pnXNslrkgPY-Jq-iXt8GQBBA9ZevRMKqVU6z7s5oRMAaBtZluuQp3YTlucWZqeq-zYCltGcIbLbkXctz6TBWBmXhUGwReSCOZ_VRgEqC2n3PkANnhHhhZd36NY4o_04/s1600/rocking-chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9RwAh-umuKJ8pnXNslrkgPY-Jq-iXt8GQBBA9ZevRMKqVU6z7s5oRMAaBtZluuQp3YTlucWZqeq-zYCltGcIbLbkXctz6TBWBmXhUGwReSCOZ_VRgEqC2n3PkANnhHhhZd36NY4o_04/s200/rocking-chair.jpg" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>--Corrie</b><b> ten Boom</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>--</b><b>Erma Bombeck</b></span><br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: 400;">“There is a great difference between worry and concern. A worried person sees a problem, and a concerned person solves a problem.” </span><strong style="margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">-- Harold Stephen</strong></span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif;">“When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;" /><strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">– Winston Churchill</strong></span><br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-weight: 400;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></strong>
<strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: 400;">“Worry a little bit every day and in a lifetime you will lose a couple of years. If something is wrong, fix it if you can. But train yourself not to worry. Worry never fixes anything.”</span><br style="font-weight: 400; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;" /><strong style="margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">– Mary Hemingway</strong></span></strong><br />
<strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong style="margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><br /></strong></span></strong>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I find comfort in the song written by Ira Stanphill, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWLm3asMiGo&list=RDxWLm3asMiGo&index=1">I Don't Know About Tomorrow</a>." When I find fear creeping in, I sing those words and worry must flee.</b></span></span></span><br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;">Books by AnnaLee Conti</strong><br />
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><br /></strong>AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8657390399735219753.post-38399642396291713332019-05-30T13:26:00.000-04:002019-05-30T13:26:00.159-04:00Peace in the Midst of StormsSeeing all the news reports of severe storms in the Midwest and Facebook stories from friends about hiding in their storm cellars for hours these past few weeks has brought to mind my experiences with floods, thunderstorms, and tornadoes.<br />
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As a young child living in Juneau, Alaska, in the late forties and early fifties, where it could rain for weeks on end, thunderstorms just didn't develop there. I didn't experience thunder and lightning until our family's first trip to Philadelphia when I was in kindergarten. </div>
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One night, as I lay in bed listening to my grandfather's loud snores, flashes of light outside suddenly lit up the room and loud cracks of thunder drowned out all other sounds. I'd loved fireworks on the Fourth of July, but it was October in a big city, so I was sure it must be something else. </div>
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Were we under attack? It was only five years since the end of World War II, and in Alaska, the only American soil invaded by the Japanese, and with nuclear war on the horizon, we still practiced air raid drills in school. Of course, my fertile imagination could conjure up the worst scenario.</div>
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My whimpers must have awakened my grandfather sleeping in the twin bed across from me. I heard his deep voice reassure me in the midst of the storm. "Don't worry! It's just thunder. The storm will pass soon." </div>
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How many times since then have I heard the voice of Jesus whisper, "Peace, be still!" in the midst of my life's storms?</div>
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Two months after our wedding in 1967, Bob and I went through the worst flood of the Chena River in the history of Fairbanks, Alaska. I have previously written about that miserable but unforgettable experience. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8657390399735219753#editor/target=post;postID=1693711212844807770">Click here to read it.</a></div>
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During the mid seventies, Bob and I moved to Springfield, Missouri, so he could prepare for the ministry at Central Bible College and the Assemblies of God Theological Seminary. Part of Tornado Alley, Springfield sported spectacular thunderstorms as well as tornadoes.</div>
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Our first night there, we were staying with friends until we could move into our rental house. Bob had gone to bed and fallen asleep immediately while I was still getting ready for bed. Just as I was about to crawl under the covers, out of nowhere, a huge flash of light just outside our window and a deafening boom awakened Bob. Only back from Vietnam for two years, he leaped up and grabbed me, shouting, "Incoming! Incoming! Hit the floor! Take cover!" </div>
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A few months later, in our rental, one morning as I dressed for work, I heard distant rumbles of thunder. Bob had already left to drop off our son at nursery school on his way to his morning class. As I combed my hair, I felt the sudden urge to pray for the safety of the house and all its contents.</div>
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No sooner had I uttered the words when with a great flash of light, the house shook violently. It felt like everything had exploded around me. Still trembling, I checked around and found no damage. Later, I learned that the house next door, just a few feet from ours, had suffered a direct strike that fried all of the electrical appliances inside.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7ArI0_mcnBiUJs4PtjDtv2BsqQT5gULuXrORbs4aR6Fv0OvLEpJq3UBQ2zlCUUVVHl6xZjWZoycFLkt1_USAJ2KvRifJOvOvAja-qR2c9MTbciC3WPugSl-AMZrCw-SdUE1VU3rLl08/s1600/Tornadoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7ArI0_mcnBiUJs4PtjDtv2BsqQT5gULuXrORbs4aR6Fv0OvLEpJq3UBQ2zlCUUVVHl6xZjWZoycFLkt1_USAJ2KvRifJOvOvAja-qR2c9MTbciC3WPugSl-AMZrCw-SdUE1VU3rLl08/s400/Tornadoes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I also recall the many tornado warnings. One night, while Bob was still at his night job, the radio warned of tornadoes. Our son and I could hear the telltale freight train roar as a tornado barreled down a nearby street. We had no storm cellar. Our son's bedroom closet was the only inner space with no windows, so I frantically tossed everything out so we could squeeze in and shut the door until the danger was past. </div>
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During another memorable storm, I stood at a fourth floor window of the Assemblies of God Headquarters building where I worked, looking out at a storm surging over the city. My legs were resting against the air conditioning/heating radiators just under the windows. Suddenly, I felt the walls pushing against my legs from the force of the winds. I backed away quickly. </div>
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That day, several tornadoes touched down on the south side of town. The house of one of the employees was hit. Her young son was home with his babysitter. The tornado sucked him up and carried him away. When the storm passed, they found the baby caught in a nearby tree, crying with fright but unharmed. Later, as they searched through the rubble, his mother found something to laugh about. The tornado had taken one shoe and left the other of every pair of shoes she owned.</div>
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We now live in the Mid Hudson Valley of New York, where thunder rolls and echoes up and down the river. Washington Irving, in his classic story, <i>Rip Van Winkle</i>, compared the thunder rolling up and down the valley to men in the Catskill Mountains playing nine pins (bowling).</div>
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When I was teaching a class of second graders in a Christian school near us, we returned to our classroom from lunch one day in the midst of a fierce thunderstorm. One side of the classroom was a wall of windows that afforded a front row view of the storm's ferocity. Someone mentioned tornadoes, and the children panicked.</div>
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I opened the Bible to Psalm 29, which vividly describes a thunderstorm--its approach as it grows in intensity, its full impact as lightning hits nearby trees and splits them, its frightening effects that strike fear to even the animals, causing some to give birth. And then the storm passes into the distance, and still the Lord sits enthroned as King and blesses His people with peace. As I read the psalm aloud, the children's fear subsided, and soon the storm was over.</div>
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How comforting to know that in all our storms, weather-wise, emotional, or spiritual, God gives us peace--peace in the midst of the storm as well as when the storm has passed by!</div>
AnnaLee Contihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08879539308024766734noreply@blogger.com0