<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488</id><updated>2011-04-21T13:14:53.379-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Denelian</title><subtitle type='html'>Be mischievous -- it feels good</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488.post-980333235085616083</id><published>2007-10-19T14:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T14:56:32.047-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Good-bye Good Weather</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wwa0u9V_5ec/RxkZ9FrO52I/AAAAAAAAAAU/3Gyo30LdSpc/s1600-h/tea+and+mtns.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wwa0u9V_5ec/RxkZ9FrO52I/AAAAAAAAAAU/3Gyo30LdSpc/s200/tea+and+mtns.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123154588396873570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good-bye rafting,&lt;br /&gt;Kayaking, and chocolate tang.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adieu, Shakespeare festival, &lt;br /&gt;And outdoor film going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Au revoir, aromatic flowers, &lt;br /&gt;And freshly mowed grass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next year, Art in the Park &lt;br /&gt;And Hyde Park Fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arevaderci fresh summer food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good-bye spontaneous skinny dipping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, water-skis and wakeboard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will miss you, my cruiser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adios, margaritas, corona &lt;br /&gt;And unabashedly painting the town red.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good-bye foothills, our rubber soles &lt;br /&gt;And tires will tread again come spring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sayonara summer stoop sitting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until next year.  Farewell…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34193488-980333235085616083?l=missdenelian.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/980333235085616083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34193488&amp;postID=980333235085616083' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/980333235085616083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/980333235085616083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/2007/10/good-bye-good-weather.html' title='Good-bye Good Weather'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wwa0u9V_5ec/RxkZ9FrO52I/AAAAAAAAAAU/3Gyo30LdSpc/s72-c/tea+and+mtns.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488.post-4464236360883785928</id><published>2007-10-17T15:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-17T15:36:17.691-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sincerity</title><content type='html'>"Unlike so many, we do not &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;peddle&lt;/span&gt; the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;sincerity&lt;/span&gt;, like men sent from God." &lt;br /&gt;2 Corinthians 2:16,17&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now this is our boast: Our conscience testifies that we have conducted ourselves in the world, and especially in our relations with you, in the holiness and &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;sincerity&lt;/span&gt; that are from God. We have done so not according to &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;worldly wisdom&lt;/span&gt; but according to God's grace."&lt;br /&gt;2 Corinthians 1:11-13&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s like a drink of cool water, a breath of fresh air, a swim in a clear lake, a perfect line down a freshly powdered mountain.  SINCERITY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again, I find myself pushing and pulling to find that spot of perfect tension, not ease, but tension where I must live… and rest.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pushing is &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;truth&lt;/span&gt; and the pulling is &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt;.  Where can I find this place of tension, and ultimately, rest?  In sincerity.  It’s so refreshing to know that what is truly most effective is simply me being me…sincere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve spent so many a laborious day &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;peddling&lt;/span&gt;, and &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;peddling&lt;/span&gt;, striving in my flesh to speak the truth in love.  I’ve also spent no less days straining to use my liberal education, i.e. &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;worldly wisdom&lt;/span&gt;, to filter truth and love. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No more.  I’m just going to be sincere, and breathe easy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34193488-4464236360883785928?l=missdenelian.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/4464236360883785928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34193488&amp;postID=4464236360883785928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/4464236360883785928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/4464236360883785928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/2007/10/sincerity.html' title='Sincerity'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488.post-3327766111083534700</id><published>2007-10-03T13:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T13:12:30.371-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dichotomy Dilemma (part one)</title><content type='html'>My grandma always said, “everything in &lt;b&gt;moderation&lt;/b&gt;” and I always found myself nodding in agreement.  In fact, I’ve often thought that life was about finding the &lt;b&gt;balance&lt;/b&gt;, and living in that balance.  It’s only lately that I’ve come to understand that I can’t live in the land of balance and moderation where I am allegedly supposed to have peace and where things are perfectly aligned to my pleasing.  On the contrary! I’ve realized that instead of being “at peace” it is actually more comforting to live in an eternal and sometimes agonizing &lt;b&gt;tension&lt;/b&gt; (read a little &lt;b&gt;Rob Bell&lt;/b&gt; to hear more about the “tension” of life).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a year ago, my pastor spoke in front of the church about drinking, cigar smoking, and God forbid, the celebration of Halloween!  The message was clear.  Everything that we do, we must do (no, not in moderation) according to what we &lt;b&gt;personally feel convicted&lt;/b&gt; about.  Not only that, but we must understand that our obligation is to others and that we must walk in &lt;b&gt;freedom&lt;/b&gt;, but with full understanding that we must &lt;b&gt;love&lt;/b&gt; others first.  Love should always be the filter for what I do and don’t do.  &lt;b&gt;IT'S SO SIMPLE!&lt;/b&gt;  It’s the solution to my wondering “is this ok?”  “should I do this?”  No more wondering, simply ask God to walk with me as I walk in loving freedom and I will know where to walk!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However… it’s not exactly that simple.  It’s been a challenge living that out in “Christian circles” where we cling to &lt;b&gt;modernist paradigms&lt;/b&gt; which say we must always see things in black and white.  Truth and non truth.  Yes and no. Do and don’t.  Wrong and right.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I don’t ever see myself living a life where everything is relative, (thank God for the &lt;b&gt;truth&lt;/b&gt; of His love for me) but I am considering the benefits that the relativist mindset can bring to living a radical Christian life.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this blasphemy?  I don’t think so, but maybe tomorrow… I will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34193488-3327766111083534700?l=missdenelian.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/3327766111083534700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34193488&amp;postID=3327766111083534700' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/3327766111083534700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/3327766111083534700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/2007/10/dichotomy-dilemma-part-one.html' title='Dichotomy Dilemma (part one)'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488.post-2952849786258381486</id><published>2007-09-17T14:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T12:24:16.547-06:00</updated><title type='text'>“No, actually I hate music”</title><content type='html'>I was interviewed by a local TV station at a street fair in my town the other day (and a gorgeous fall day it was). At first, the reporter’s questioning seemed to jive with setting in which we were. He asked “why did you come down to the park this afternoon?” and, “What has been your favorite part of the street fair thus far?” Then… without much of logical transition at all, the reporter asked if I liked music. I had to pause… I felt like the question was not one that any professional journalist would ask. I felt like he was inquiring as to whether or not I ate food or breathed air into my lungs or regularly used the restroom! Such a question. A better question would surely be, “What &lt;em&gt;kind&lt;/em&gt; of music do you enjoy most?” No one asks (especially people &lt;em&gt;trained&lt;/em&gt; in asking questions) “Do you eat?”. No, people ask, “what’s your favorite &lt;em&gt;kind&lt;/em&gt; of food?” Does not everyone in our culture enjoy music? Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t know &lt;em&gt;anyone&lt;/em&gt;, in &lt;em&gt;any&lt;/em&gt; of my circles that doesn’t consume and enjoy &lt;em&gt;huge&lt;/em&gt; quantities of music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask my students to give short speeches about themselves at the beginning of the year. In their speeches they are to relay to the class some of their values, goals, accomplishments, pet peeves, and &lt;em&gt;interests&lt;/em&gt;. After about half of the speeches were completed in all of my classes I began asking each class a question that was inspired by the fact that almost every single student expressed that they had an interest in music. Shocking. The question I asked was “Would you please tell me if you do NOT have an interest in music?” Crickets. There was not a single kid in all of my classes that that did not enjoy music. (I then gave them a grand mini lecture on being more specific and intentional with their communication).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point is not to carry on about the almost insulting question from a journalist in the park (I exaggerate), nor to discuss the problem of adolescent EIPU (Excessive I Pod Use), but to delve into the tremendous power of music. It is indeed a force. Perhaps it’s not so cheesy to say that music brings people together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34193488-2952849786258381486?l=missdenelian.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/2952849786258381486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34193488&amp;postID=2952849786258381486' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/2952849786258381486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/2952849786258381486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/2007/09/no-actually-i-hate-music-i-was.html' title='“No, actually I hate music”'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488.post-117468172167572734</id><published>2007-03-23T15:24:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T15:28:41.686-06:00</updated><title type='text'>At last</title><content type='html'>At last.  No, my love has not come along however, Spring break has.  I cannot express the joy that is welling up inside of me... so I will not try.&lt;br /&gt;Good day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34193488-117468172167572734?l=missdenelian.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/117468172167572734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34193488&amp;postID=117468172167572734' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/117468172167572734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/117468172167572734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/2007/03/at-last.html' title='At last'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34193488.post-116278263733618028</id><published>2006-11-05T19:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-11-05T20:10:37.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Firsts</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5307/3764/1600/100_1359.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5307/3764/320/100_1359.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is my &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; blog entry and frankly, it's just weird. It's weird, but not weird enough to be unlike many other &lt;strong&gt;firsts&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day, trying to teach nineth graders about the value of education, (a &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; in itself) I made the fatal mistake of telling them that high school was great, and it was there that "I had many &lt;strong&gt;firsts&lt;/strong&gt;".&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;The room was instantly filled with an array of &lt;em&gt;ooohs&lt;/em&gt; and &lt;em&gt;heys,&lt;/em&gt; hands covering mouths, and a plethera of NON school appropriate comments. You'd think I would know by now how to avoid &lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; kind of distraction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Firsts&lt;/strong&gt;, I supose there is nothing like a &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt;. How could there be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does a &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; have to be so scary? Aren't &lt;strong&gt;firsts&lt;/strong&gt; what we do most of the time anyway? I wonder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting ready to buy my &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; house. I maintain that it is scary. Even as I become more educated; and knowledge is half the battle, so they say, I remain scared.  Surely I will stay scared until I move up on the teacher's pay scale... for the &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is monday, the &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; day of the workweek.  &lt;strong&gt;First&lt;/strong&gt; day of the workweek is not nearly as scary as &lt;strong&gt;first&lt;/strong&gt; "gig" at a bar when all you know are Jesus songs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34193488-116278263733618028?l=missdenelian.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/feeds/116278263733618028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34193488&amp;postID=116278263733618028' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/116278263733618028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34193488/posts/default/116278263733618028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missdenelian.blogspot.com/2006/11/firsts.html' title='Firsts'/><author><name>Miss W</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06039652560789128823</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
