<?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-8664833342862435872</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:36:23.814-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Journey of The Heart</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8664833342862435872.post-6173458773582502835</id><published>2008-03-04T07:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T09:21:30.368-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hidden places of the Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33ccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A few days ago, I was talking to a friend and she shared that she had some unresolved issues with her father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like many of us, she'd grown up with her father being absent from her life, and even into her adulthood, there was a void in her life from the place he should have occupied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though my friend spoke words of deep resentment and anger towards her father, my ears heard something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another friend shared with me the disappointment she was experiencing because another friend had betrayed her. When she'd needed her friend the most, that friend let her down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again I saw resentment falling from her lips, but I heard something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While riding the bus home from work one day, I overheard two women talking about their children. It seemed one in particular was very upset with her teenage son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned in the direction she was sitting, and I couldn't help but take note of her obvious aggitation and anger as she talked with the woman sitting next to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But again, although I saw the anger, I heard something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I'd heard in all of these women wasn't simply anger or even just them being upset. Though each of their stories were different, they all shared something in common.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it caused me to wonder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many of us walk around with some form of hurt hidden in our hearts. On the outside we appear to be okay. We function normally and we go about our daily business. Looking at us, no one would ever know we had a care in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But just as I did with each of these women, if you listen close enough to what is said, you can hear what it is &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; being said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurt does have a voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes it sounds angry and upset.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes it sounds depressed and alone.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes it is silent and says nothing at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's still there just the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking of each of these women caused me to take a look at my own life, and as I turned inward, I saw areas of hurt hidden there as well. And through prayer and reflection I came to a conclusion that I think I've always known, but never really thought about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only cure for hurt is forgiveness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple.&lt;br /&gt;But none the less true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anger comes easily. We all experince it.&lt;br /&gt;Disappointment is natural. We're all human.&lt;br /&gt;Frustration is inevitable. Life happens to all of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But to forgive is a choice that although it doesn't erase hurt, it does free us from the damage that unresolved, hidden hurt can cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hurt only serves to hinder us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But forgiveness comes that we might be free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which one would you rather hold in your heart?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-6173458773582502835?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/6173458773582502835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=6173458773582502835' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/6173458773582502835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/6173458773582502835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2008/03/hidden-places-of-heart.html' title='Hidden places of the Heart'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-3656990707400925282</id><published>2008-01-16T11:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T11:29:04.624-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let go of the Ropes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#3333ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;A friend sent me an interesting email the other&lt;br /&gt;day that really got me to thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The email told of a story about a man who wanted to climb the world's tallest mountain,so he prepared for many years to accomplish this. So he would not have to share this glory with anyone else, he climbed alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story goes on to tell of how one night while climbing, he fell.&lt;br /&gt;As he felt himself spiraling out of control, he felt the rope he'd tied around his waist thankfully pull him hard and and his fall was broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Held in place by this rope, the man cried out to God to help him.&lt;br /&gt;God's response to him...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let go of the rope."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was here that I paused while reading the story and I had to ask myself the question:&lt;br /&gt;Would I have let go of that rope?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then another thought came.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What ropes do I need to let go of in my own life? And would I trust God by cutting them or would I continue to hold on to them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its easy to trust God, when life is going well. When the sun is shining in our lives and the wind ceases to blow, its easy to talk of our faith in God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what I've learned, is that trust isn't born in times of peace, but yet its a choice I must purpose in my heart before the first whisper of wind ever blows in my life,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And neither is faith something I just use as decoration for my spiritual vocabulary, but rather its rooted in the very depths of my soul and I use it every day, at all times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conclusion of this story tells how a rescue group found the man a few days later. He had frozen to death while still clutching the rope. Ironically, he was only 10 feet from the ground. Had he let go of the rope as God has instructed, he'd have lived to tell this story himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we begin a new year, and for many of us a new start in life, it would serve us well to clean out the closets of our hearts and let go of those ropes we hold on to that deter us from the plans God has for each of our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can either choose to keep holding onto these ropes, or we can let go and trust that the hand of God can not only keep us from falling, but can carry us upward and onward as we strive to gain new heights in the newness of every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What ropes do you need to let go of?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-3656990707400925282?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/3656990707400925282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=3656990707400925282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/3656990707400925282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/3656990707400925282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2008/01/let-go-of-ropes.html' title='Let go of the Ropes'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-8495410787904613999</id><published>2007-12-18T10:42:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-18T10:47:55.481-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Life is made up of...</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc6600;"&gt;The other morning I was sitting here at my desk, and I heard on the radio that a woman and her 3 daughters were in a car accident when she lost control of her vehicle and the mini van they were traveling in landed in a body of water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of them survived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ironically the woman was able to call 911 and her husband before she died. But help got there too late. It was only a matter of minutes, one expert estimates it took 6 minutes before help arrived on the scene, but from the time of the accident to the time someone reached them, they had all perished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a matter of minutes, life had ended for them and had been irrevocably changed for others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is made up of moments. One after the other, each filled with their own needs and carrying their own end results. From one moment to the other we lie in the balance between what is and what could be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For this family, it took only a moment to change all that they knew into something they'd never even thought about or possibly imagined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is made up of moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And although we can't control time nor control the continuum that makes up time, we can control what we do with our time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know we say it, but its still true none the less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is precious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And more than being precious, its a gift. We did nothing to deserve it, and yet we have it just the same. What we make of it or do with it, is a choice that's been given to each of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I wonder what we would do if we knew that the next moment wasn't coming to us, but rather it was coming for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would that woman and her daughters have done differently? What would her husband have done differently? Would we exchange words of hurt or offer words of love? Would we focus on what we didn't have or count our blessing for what we did have?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is made up of moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When one of them is gone, its a moment we can never get back or re-do again. We should live our lives in such a manner that we embrace each moment as though the next one wasn't coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How much sweeter and kinder would our thoughts and words be? How much more loving our actions would be and how much more at peace we could become.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How very different our perspective of life would be, if we took to heart the moments that mattered the most and made the most of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is made up of moments...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-8495410787904613999?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/8495410787904613999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=8495410787904613999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/8495410787904613999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/8495410787904613999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/12/life-is-made-up-of.html' title='Life is made up of...'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-3184091870190784687</id><published>2007-12-18T08:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-18T10:06:52.679-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Love of Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The other day I was listening to a group of people discuss (complain about) their holiday plans and all that they had yet to do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Many had shopping left to do and things to bake, some had a lot of parties and engagements they had to attend, and some were at a loss as to what to get certain people on their christmas list.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And as I listened, I found myself wondering if that was all there was to christmas anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Had christmas really been reduced to shopping days and parties? Had it really just come down to stuff to buy and who not to forget on our lists?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I pondered these questions in my heart, and heres what I came up with:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;The first gift ever given for Christmas was love. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And it was given in love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So its perfectly okay for us to buy gifts for those who mean something to us and those we want to bless in a special way. The giving of gifts is symbolic to what was given to us on that first christmas night.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;But is Christmas just about gifts?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And its perfectly okay to come together with friends and family to celebrate the festiveness of the holiday and to celebrate this special occasion with those we love.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Even the angels celebrated that first Christmas right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;But though we have reason to celebrate, Christmas goes beyond celebrations and family gathering.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;So what is Christmas about?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;!!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;For always. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Gifts are forgotten, and celebrations become memories. But love? Love lives on in our hearts for always.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And when I look at it from that perspective, it makes Christmas something different for me.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Afterall, it was love that made the difference for us all that first Christmas. Love didn't just come that we might celebrate and bless each other for one day. It came that we might know love every day and be blessed because of it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I'm keeping it simple this year. I'm celebrating the Love of Christmas and the One who gives me that love everyday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And my wish for you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;That the Love that is Christmas, be yours too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;For always.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-3184091870190784687?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/3184091870190784687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=3184091870190784687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/3184091870190784687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/3184091870190784687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/12/light-of-christmas.html' title='The Love of Christmas'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-6142001273749618794</id><published>2007-11-08T06:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T07:56:57.711-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"&gt;Most mornings before I begin my day I either write out a list of things I want to accomplish for the day, or I make a mental note and check each thing off as I complete it. But this morning as I read an inspirational story, I realized there was one thing I had somehow stopped adding to this list.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;stopped&lt;/span&gt; dreaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As children no one has to tell us to dream. Our imaginations know no boundaries and our limitations go beyond where our minds will carry us. We give ourselves permission to explore the unknown, and we rise to the challenge of unraveling the mysteries of life. We gleefully ride the wave of endless possibilities in any situation and we dream with our eyes wide open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But somewhere between childhood and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;adulthhood&lt;/span&gt;, we loose that. We stop dreaming, and as we step into what we call "real life", we shed the things of our youth that made us free, that dared us to dream. We instead dress ourselves in responsibilities and obligations and our dreams get pushed aside and exist only in our sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this morning as I stood in front of my brand new day, I was ever so gently reminded to return to the dreams of my childhood. I was reminded of the dreams that had fueled my heart and moved me to reach out for my possibilities and my hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as I made out my daily to-do list, at the very top I wrote: Dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And with eyes wide open, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; what I'm doing now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And let me encourage you to do the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Dreaming!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-6142001273749618794?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/6142001273749618794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=6142001273749618794' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/6142001273749618794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/6142001273749618794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/11/dream.html' title='Dream'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-2954767392039215421</id><published>2007-09-06T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T21:03:57.463-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time Wished Away</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#999900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Time Wished Away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I caught myself complaining in spite of myself&lt;br /&gt;Wishing away my time as I longed for something else&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wished that Monday was Friday&lt;br /&gt;and that weekends would never end&lt;br /&gt;I wished that special days were every day&lt;br /&gt;and time became my friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wished that my time was my time&lt;br /&gt;not on loan to someone else&lt;br /&gt;There I was complaining&lt;br /&gt;in spite of myself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as I stepped into my day a thought occurred to me&lt;br /&gt;thank goodness that wishing for something could never make it be&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because if Monday was Friday&lt;br /&gt;that would be time lost&lt;br /&gt;And unending weekends would carry&lt;br /&gt;a very heavy cost&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And any day above ground&lt;br /&gt;well that’s a special day&lt;br /&gt;For it’s a day I’ve never seen&lt;br /&gt;and one that won’t come again my way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time I may not control and really that’s for the best&lt;br /&gt;Time well spent is time spent complaining less&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so a valuable lesson I learned&lt;br /&gt;and one I won’t soon forget&lt;br /&gt;Every day is a blessing&lt;br /&gt;and I’ll enjoy every bit&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Valerie Ray&lt;br /&gt;copyright 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff9966;"&gt;The other day I was in the elevator at work exchanging small talk with another person. We were just two strangers passing time while temporarily occupying the same space. But as we chatted, I heard myself several times complaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now normally I don't think of myself as a complainer. I would like to think I'm a pretty open and positive person. I'm the one who ususally see's the light at the end of the tunnel, the silver lining after every dark cloud. Me complaining?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perish the thought!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as I stood in that eleveator and heard myself doing just that, a thought occured to me. Not only was I complaining, but I sounded pretty ungrateful too. Sure maybe we were only talking about how hot it was and how we couldn't wait for friday to get here so we could start our weekends, but later I realized that what I was actually doing was wishing my time away. And even more than that, I was being unappreciative to the time I was being given.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How often do we longingly look in the distance to an uncertain future, preparing and hoping for something yet to come, and yet we rush through our every day moments as if we have some right to be there. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us really. When we get right down to it, all we have are our right now moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we have hot weather, we can be appreciative that its not freezing outside. If we have a tuesday or a wednesday, we can be glad we lived to see a new day. If we have jobs, we can be happy that we're not unemployed. No matter what lies in our right now momets, we can always find something to be appreciative about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And thats not just about being positive. Thats about being grateful and recognizing our blessings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days I spend a lot less time complaining. I'm more conscience about what I let fall out of my mouth. Even about the weather. Instead I spend a lot more time counting my blessings, and being more grateful for all of my moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the ones spent waiting in an elevator.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-2954767392039215421?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/2954767392039215421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=2954767392039215421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/2954767392039215421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/2954767392039215421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/09/time-wished-away.html' title='Time Wished Away'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-5420595928870348026</id><published>2007-07-16T16:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T18:25:55.482-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something happened at 40</title><content type='html'>Three months ago, I turned the big 4-0.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm a person who loves birthdays. Birthdays were always important in our house growing up. Even now, my brothers and sisters and I always call each other on our birthdays no matter where we are. And when my nieces and nephews were smaller, we made a big deal out of their birthdays too. So birthdays have always been special to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But something happened at 40...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh I still celebrated my big day. In fact, my family had a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;surprise&lt;/span&gt; birthday party for me, and I felt like a kid at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Christmas&lt;/span&gt;! It was great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But somewhere within &lt;em&gt;me,&lt;/em&gt; something happened at 40...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something that caused me to reflect not just on who I was.&lt;br /&gt;(I'd figured that out in my 30's)&lt;br /&gt;But rather to reflect on who I wanted to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently I adopted a 4 month old puppy, and I named her Nadia. Nadia was a stray that found herself at our local dog pound. She needed a home. And I needed her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each day as I watch her play and romp through my house, I'm amazed at her inquisitiveness and energy. She doesn't miss a beat nor anything around her. And yet she enjoys her down time too as she finds simple enjoyment in cuddling with me or giving soft sweet puppy kisses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sees the world through the eyes of someone who know what life is really about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the other day as I watched her sleeping, it hit me.&lt;br /&gt;She was who I wanted to be.&lt;br /&gt;No I don't mean that I always wanted to be a dog.&lt;br /&gt;(Although some of them have some pretty good lives)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what I mean is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nadia is always herself. She doesn't spend time apologizing for that, but rather she spends time being who and what she is. Each day brings new adventure and discovery for her, even in things she saw and learned the day before. She doesn't let a moment pass wasted by her, instead she seizes that moment to be who she was called and created to be.&lt;br /&gt;She adds something of herself to each day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my other dogs were puppies, I was so busy trying to get them through the chewing and biting puppy stuff, that their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;puppyhood&lt;/span&gt; passed right by me. And even now I'm guilty of trying so hard to get from one point in my life to another that I miss the details in between. I forget to live and enjoy life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nadia has taught me that life isn't a grocery list that I check off as I get to each new level. But rather life consists of new moments, every day. And those moments should not be crossed off or conquered, but enjoyed by living them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd say Nadia was one smart puppy, but I could be biased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But one thing's for sure...when I grow up...I want to be just like her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh did I tell you that the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Egyptian&lt;/span&gt; translation for Nadia means, called by God?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Definitely she was called to be my gift, and one of my greatest teachers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as my 40's are calling me and beckoning me to enter this new season in my life, I feel like I'm ready now. Ready to start living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I told ya, something happened at 40...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-5420595928870348026?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/5420595928870348026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=5420595928870348026' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/5420595928870348026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/5420595928870348026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/07/something-happened-at-40.html' title='Something happened at 40'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8664833342862435872.post-4794506471738557200</id><published>2007-07-12T07:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-12T07:30:51.448-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fear Factor</title><content type='html'>I have a friend whose husband, being the insightful man he is, who whenever she is anxious or afraid of something, always asks her "What would you do if you weren't afraid?" Once she gives him her answer he then replies, "Well if fear is the only thing stopping you, pretend its not there and do what it is you really desire in your heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it funny how fear and worry can often hold us hostage, so much so that often we let golden moments of opportunity pass us by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; All because of fear.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;And sometimes (if I'm to be honest), I don't really know what it is I'm afraid of. &lt;br /&gt;I only know how I feel.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Well, yesterday I finally accomplished step one of a many step program. Following the encouragement and advice of many of you, I created this blog page.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Now I know the sky isn't going to crack open and the heavenly choir won't break out in a round of melodic Hallelujahs, but for me this was a big step.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; I know in our technological advanced society, this is no big deal anymore. Children have blog pages and almost everyone I know has some type of web presence in one way or another.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;But for me....... this is a big deal and I don't want the moment to pass without recognizing the significance of it. &lt;br /&gt;I think I do that too often. Let a moment pass without realizing that it was a turning point or at the very least a moment of great significance.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Often I have hesitated to do a blog or web page because I was just plain afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of being so exposed. Afraid of failing. Afraid of not having anything to write about. Afraid of being afraid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I finally realized that fear isn't something that should immobilize me, but rather something to empower and motivate me to do something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in a moment of clarity, I realized that by letting fear hold me back, I was the only thing standing in my way of following my heart and pursuing my writing dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly I understood and grasped hold of the fact that I owed it to someone very important to at least try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if in my trying, I did fail, so what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can at least take comfort from the fact that I did something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in that way I won't have failed at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So with fear still present, (but at least taking a back seat), I'm moving forward. Forward in my writing and expressions to the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I appreciate each of you for helping me on this journey. The journey of finding and claiming Valerie's voice to a world she was once afraid of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And its only the beginning!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-4794506471738557200?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/4794506471738557200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=4794506471738557200' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/4794506471738557200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/4794506471738557200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/07/fear-factor.html' title='The Fear Factor'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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-8664833342862435872.post-2925125566676903787</id><published>2007-07-12T05:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-12T06:59:28.181-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Growing up my cousins and I learned a song called "Welcome to My World"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sing along with me if you know it too :&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Welcome to my world&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;Won't you come on in&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Step into my heart&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Leave your cares behind&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Welcome to my world&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Built with you in mind&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Welcome!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm so blessed to have you join me, even if for but a moment.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It is my hope that your visit with me will be filled with enlightment and encouragement for your journey through life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I think we all need a safe place where we can be who we are. A place where we can expose our hearts without fear or judgement. A place of contentment where we can refuel and replenish so that we can continue our journey through life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You've just entered that kind of place! So take off your shoes....prop up your feet... relax your mind...open your heart...and allow your soul to be blessed as together we leave behind the cares of the world and enter into a safe sanctuary built with us in mind.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You are welcome in this place!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Enjoy the journey with me!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6600;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8664833342862435872-2925125566676903787?l=valerieray.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/feeds/2925125566676903787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8664833342862435872&amp;postID=2925125566676903787' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/2925125566676903787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8664833342862435872/posts/default/2925125566676903787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valerieray.blogspot.com/2007/07/welcome.html' title='Welcome'/><author><name>Valerie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14435647538558277969</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></feed>
