<?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-501673023935319425</id><updated>2012-01-13T02:42:07.598-08:00</updated><category term='Life'/><category term='Poem'/><category term='Celtic'/><category term='God'/><title type='text'>Becsadaisy's Airspace</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-4802085933562644391</id><published>2012-01-12T08:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T08:45:58.372-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bleetings</title><content type='html'>One of our pastors has been encouraging us recently to be more inventive in our methods of greeting each other, rather than resorting to a nominal (and rather boring) "Hi". He began by pouring forth that he wished that "the hooves of a thousand camels may bless your fields". My friends and I found this rather an amusing and diverting thought. A good friend demonstrated her amusement by texting me in the middle of my busy nursing clinic to wish that my "needles be always sharp" and that I "receive a hundredfold patients forever". I wasn't sure whether that was a blessing or a curse at the time and so, with a smile, text her back (knowing she's a busy housewife) blessing her with "the joy of a thousand ironing board covers upon her head".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This rather fun attempt at elaborate greetings actually set me thinking about greetings and whether actually they are forms of blessings. Why? Well the simple "Good morning" greeting originated from the rather more lovely "God give you a good morning". "Good day" from "God give you a good day". And so on. I'm sure there are more. It set me to thinking how when we greet someone we have the opportunity to bless them too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not planning to run around greeting people with completely illogical greetings every hour of the day - I might get myself consigned to a loony bin if I do. But I think I'll be paying a little more attention (at least on the inside) to what I greet people with and what blessings I might be bestowing with the greeting. So perhaps I should call it a "Bleeting".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-4802085933562644391?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/4802085933562644391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2012/01/bleetings.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/4802085933562644391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/4802085933562644391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2012/01/bleetings.html' title='Bleetings'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-5064027988274784240</id><published>2011-08-02T06:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T06:23:36.984-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bravery versus fear</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking about bravery and fear a bit recently. From my viewpoint on myself I don't think I'm a very brave person. Other people's opinion seems to differ greatly from my own. I see the effort that I have to put in to get over myself and do things. Other people simply see what is done at the end of the effort.&lt;br /&gt;It's made me consider the idea that bravery is not an absence of fear but simply a repeated overcoming of it.&lt;br /&gt;I'm guessing that if fear was completely absent from my (or anyone's - for that matter) life, then I might be likely to do all manner of completely irrational, illogical or completely foolish things (My friends might be reading this, laughing and mumbling that I do them anyway). Fear perhaps is one of the foundations that common sense is based on. Fear keeps us from doing stupid things that would end life.&lt;br /&gt;But if fear is not overcome at times it can keep us from doing things that end the fun in life. It can hold us back from achieving and experiencing so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm guessing I shall battle with my personal fears and insecurities for the rest of my life. But as long as I never let them hold me back from who and what I should be then they could be the very indicators of the value of the things I do and achieve with my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-5064027988274784240?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/5064027988274784240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/08/bravery-versus-fear.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/5064027988274784240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/5064027988274784240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/08/bravery-versus-fear.html' title='Bravery versus fear'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-6545984847437291021</id><published>2011-06-27T07:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-27T07:23:02.255-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Privilage</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking a bit recently about how incredible my church is and how much we have and how easy it is to take for granted.&lt;br /&gt;We've just been to London. Not sightseeing, but being part of the sights for a day. Why? So that we can tell people about Jesus. We walked - on the road - through some of the busiest streets of London in the middle of a Saturday in summer. Right from Hyde Park Corner to Trafalgar Square. Singing, dancing, shouting, praying, mexican-waving. Following this extraordinary outburst of colour we took over Trafalgar Square for the whole afternoon. Dancing, shouting, talking, singing, laughing, drama-ing...all so that people could have a chance to hear about Jesus and all that he has done and can do for them.&lt;br /&gt;To anyone who has never heard this it might seem like front-page news. Sadly to some in my church it has become almost routine and they have lost the excitement and joy that comes with throwing themselves wholeheartedly into something like that.&lt;br /&gt;Dear God, may I never get that boring. Save me from my own passive nature that I may never take for granted the opportunities that you give us. Keep my heart from shutting out all that is new and hiding behind it's own insecurities. Keep me sensible to the amazing privilage that you have given us. To be those who can carry your name at these times in these places.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-6545984847437291021?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/6545984847437291021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/06/privilage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/6545984847437291021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/6545984847437291021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/06/privilage.html' title='Privilage'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-1012147774865147936</id><published>2011-06-17T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-17T06:52:26.062-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>I was listening to someone talking on Monday evening about love. He was saying that in his experience of building church and winning people for Jesus it was a case of just needing to love them and then God would do the rest. That if people had other agendas than simply loving people life started to get difficult and complicated.&lt;br /&gt;Sounds profound I guess. But I think he's right.&lt;br /&gt;It made me think back to the young women that I've helped to find their way in Jesus and to find their place within the church. I'm certainly not perfect and I'm sure I misunderstood them more times than I care to remember. I'm also sure that I loved them very much indeed - and still do. I'd do pretty much anything for all of them.&lt;br /&gt;I still maintain that the fact that the majority of these young women is still in the church has an awful lot to do with God and not very much to do with me at all. God did a lot whilst I stood in the corner with a proverbial open mouth. I just loved them - very imperfectly.&lt;br /&gt;Thank Goodness that the Grace of God is the element within our individual and corporate walks with Him that makes the difference.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-1012147774865147936?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/1012147774865147936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/06/love.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/1012147774865147936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/1012147774865147936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/06/love.html' title='Love'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-4515171176660271145</id><published>2011-05-17T09:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T09:20:32.619-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time</title><content type='html'>I guess there have been more blog posts about time than anyone could be bothered to count - certainly more than I'd care to imagine. I don't think I'm a deep enough thinker to come up with anything that no-one has thought of before. But sometimes it's the little things that get my attention rather than the unfathomable depths that some people manage to understand!&lt;br /&gt;And I've been thinking today - where does the time that I waste go to?&lt;br /&gt;I've said lots of times in my life that I want my time to count for Jesus. That I want Him to use me. But the time that I spend sightlessly admiring the view through my office window, or the time that I spend checking twitter for the 30th time....where does that go? Does it count for anything at all? Does it help me to "relax"? Is it simply "gone" and no-one knows where to. Is there actualy an angel in heaven who has the thankless task of going through the moments of my days and doing the equations between time well spent and time wasted. And what is time that has been wasted recorded as anyway? Is it like an appointment book with just blank spaces? What goes in there.&lt;br /&gt;I don't have answers to this by the way......just questions. And some of those are rather vague!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-4515171176660271145?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/4515171176660271145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/05/time.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/4515171176660271145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/4515171176660271145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2011/05/time.html' title='Time'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-3199741952966804464</id><published>2010-09-28T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-28T15:16:42.131-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Celtic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poem'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><title type='text'>Man, Movement, Machine, Monument</title><content type='html'>Recently one of our leaders spoke in a Sunday morning service about a very real danger that faces the churches of today. That is the danger of turning from a movement of life into a machine and then a monument to what "has been".&lt;br /&gt;I felt challenged and reminded of a trip to Lindisfarne Island which I took with two of my friends a couple of years ago when I was still at Uni. I had a moment with God on finding how disenchanted I was with the monuments to bygones on the island. That was the inspiration for the poem that follows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a small windy island a long way North&lt;br /&gt;Stands a church, from the austerity of which, Celtic Saints strode forth.&lt;br /&gt;But it now stands silent, empty, just a monument,&lt;br /&gt;Just a place where all those "seeking peace" are sent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wonder, whilst I walk around the echoing insides,&lt;br /&gt;How we lost the verve and passion that consumed their lives?&lt;br /&gt;Where it was along the path we completely missed the way,&lt;br /&gt;And turned this house of praise into a museum for today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So wandering outside and glancing over a small wall,&lt;br /&gt;The sea reflects the sun and holds me in it's thrall.&lt;br /&gt;A living spectacle of changing, dancing light&lt;br /&gt;Presents a view of briliance before my captured sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I hear inside my heart the still small voice of God.&lt;br /&gt;And hear Him say "This is how I want my people to be,&lt;br /&gt;Not still, nor silent, not hollow, bound to sod,&lt;br /&gt;But moving, shining - a living reflection of Me."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-3199741952966804464?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/3199741952966804464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/09/man-movement-machine-monument.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/3199741952966804464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/3199741952966804464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/09/man-movement-machine-monument.html' title='Man, Movement, Machine, Monument'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-3345657779371713903</id><published>2010-06-21T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T06:21:14.508-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear God</title><content type='html'>I've been inspired recently by reading a very lovely, lighthearted little book that has a deeper message. It's written by a man who claims to be a lapsed athiest and it's a book of "short prayers for long days".&lt;br /&gt;Little sentances to God about the mundane, the funny and the perplexing things in life.&lt;br /&gt;I loved reading it. It used to belong to my Grandad, but he's now able to talk face to face with God.&lt;br /&gt;It inspired me to just talk to God more. God is interested in the everyday happenings in our lives. He doesn't just want a shopping list of prayer or an hour here or there. He wants to be able to be involved, to laugh with us or cry with us.&lt;br /&gt;You see, there's a scarey bit in my bible. It says that at the end of time some will come to the gates of heaven and want to go in saying to God that they've done all kinds of things in His name, but He'll tell them to go....because He doesn't know them. How sad to have lived a life of duty in His name with no relationship.&lt;br /&gt;So. Whilst my Twitter friends may think I've gone a little off the wall with my "Dear God" posts. It's just another way to talk to my God about my life. To get to know Him....and let Him get to know me too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-3345657779371713903?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/3345657779371713903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/06/dear-god.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/3345657779371713903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/3345657779371713903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/06/dear-god.html' title='Dear God'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-1027212849552276914</id><published>2010-06-15T06:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T06:30:44.974-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandad</title><content type='html'>When I attended my grandmother's funeral my grandfather sat in his wheelchair by her open grave and said "Goodbye Dora, I'll see you soon". Heartbreakingly for us, but happily for him, today I stood beside the open grave of my grandfather to say goodbye to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loosing one grandparent was very hard. Loosing both of them has hurt so much. I don't feel much like myself at the moment. But I suppose that's normal, whatever normal is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad he's with Jesus. I'm glad he's with my grandmother. But there's so much I wish that I could have said and done more. Maybe it's always like that when you loose someone you love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now I think it's just time to be quiet, at least that's how I feel.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-1027212849552276914?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/1027212849552276914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/06/grandad.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/1027212849552276914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/1027212849552276914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/06/grandad.html' title='Grandad'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-3128190802530918230</id><published>2010-04-12T08:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T06:21:58.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Relief or Pain</title><content type='html'>I lost my Grandmother yesterday morning. And whilst I don't really wish to type a blog that is just some new kind of obituary, I can't sit and say nothing about a woman whose talents and life have made me in part the woman I am today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandmother was an incredible cook. She ran her own bakery for a few years making and selling fresh bread to the residents of the small village in which she lived at the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was a singer, singing the Alto harmony in the Emmanuel choir in London.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was a lover of Jesus. Living her life for Him and trying to serve Him in the best way that she knew how.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-3128190802530918230?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/3128190802530918230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/04/relief-or-pain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/3128190802530918230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/3128190802530918230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/04/relief-or-pain.html' title='Relief or Pain'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-91357589170309684</id><published>2010-03-23T08:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T08:13:32.145-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring</title><content type='html'>It's spring time - at last! And such a relief.&lt;br /&gt;I drive home from work in the evenings and it's still light. Light enough that I can see that the leaves are coming out. I can see the daffodills.&lt;br /&gt;It's warm enough that I needn't wear layers and layers of jumpers.&lt;br /&gt;The daffodills are blooming out the front of our house and brightening the mornings.&lt;br /&gt;I love springtime - such a blessed relief after the greyness of winter.&lt;br /&gt;Although I shall miss dozing on the sofa in front of the fire I'm sure!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-91357589170309684?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/91357589170309684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/03/spring.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/91357589170309684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/91357589170309684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/03/spring.html' title='Spring'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-2881259933837038396</id><published>2010-02-16T02:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-16T02:30:28.652-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Self Control</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking - as I sometimes do.&lt;br /&gt;And what I've been thinking on is not an unusual topic. It's one that plagues the whole of society, but holds particular meaning to those of us Christians who want to live what the Bible teaches. In the bible there is a passage which lists what are known as the "fruits of the Spirit" or in other words, qualities of personality or soul which need cultivating in the followers of Jesus. They include such things as "Gentleness", "Goodness", "Peace" and "Patience". All good stuff I'm sure, but I feel that even attaining these seemingly rare qualities may be direcly attributed to one quality further down which makes all of us squirm slightly and skip it quickly to move on to other more likeable subjects. I'm talking of the quality that is "Self Control".&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure we all have an idea of what self control is. It's the ability to not have second helpings at dinner isn't it? Or the ability to say "no" to chocolate, right? Well, yes - and no! I think that self control is probably a whole lot bigger than that.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe self control is what we exercise when there's an opportunity to gossip and we deny ourselves that.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe self control is what we exercise when we make ourselves get out of bed the first time the alarm clock rings rather than snoozing it five times.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe self control is us listening to that person who is rabbitting on in our ear when we don't feel like listening - but perhaps that person desperately needs us to.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe self control is what means we have a set time to pray and listen to God each week.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe self control is a whole lot bigger than we think. Maybe if we stop to think about our lives for real it is self control which means we are gentle, good, peaceful and patient. Perhaps in skipping over this hard to swallow word means we're denying ourselves the very things we're hoping to achieve in this life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It frightens me when I have revelations like this. I can't deny that I've had some kind of a realisation that I'm not living up to the mark of what I know to be the best way to live. I can't pretend I don't know any better. And so I have to change.  And it frightens me that I'm daft enough to tell my friends that I've been thinking and realising such things - as it gives them the liberty of taking me to task when I don't follow up my words with actions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-2881259933837038396?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/2881259933837038396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/self-control.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/2881259933837038396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/2881259933837038396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/self-control.html' title='Self Control'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-1485274278956982256</id><published>2010-02-10T14:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-10T14:44:01.431-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Procrastination!</title><content type='html'>Today I've been on a course for work. Was quite nice actually, drove through the countryside to a large hospital near the Dunstable Downs. It was a lovely sunny day for the part of it that it wasn't snowing and it was a really lovely time to be out for a drive. When we go there we did a day's training in how to help over sized people return to a healthy shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those who know me well will know that I've never been truthfully called undersized in my life, and so for me to attend a course like this will have prickled my concience that maybe I should practice what I preach. But what I actually learned is that procrastination is at times far stronger than determination, or maybe my determination to procrastinate is what is actually the leader here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, tomorrow is another day - right? It can all start then can't it! For today there isn't enough minutes of it left for me to be able to do much with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the thought of tomorrow is already dull and dreary - I feel hungry at the thought of it. Oh bother...why can't life be a little simpler??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-1485274278956982256?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/1485274278956982256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/procrastination.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/1485274278956982256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/1485274278956982256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/procrastination.html' title='Procrastination!'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-425488627764734976</id><published>2010-02-09T06:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T06:43:50.678-08:00</updated><title type='text'>For Rachel</title><content type='html'>My dear sister, I hope this old hymn brings you some comfort. All my love, Beckie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;'Twixt gleams of joy and clouds of doubt&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Our feelings come and go;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Our best estate is toss'd about&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;In ceasless ebb and flow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;No mood of feeling, form of thought,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Is constant for a day;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But Thou, O Lord! Thou changest not;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The same Thou art alway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I grasp Thy strength, make it mine own,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My heart with peace is blest;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I lose my hold and then comes down&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Darkness and cold unrest.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Let me no more my comfort draw&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;From my frail hold of Thee, - &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;In this alone rejoice with awe;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Thy mighty grasp of me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Out of that weak unquiet drift&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That comes but to depart,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;To that pure Heaven my spirit lift&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Where Thou unchanging art.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Lay hold of me with Thy strong grasp,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Let Thy Almighty arm&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;In it's embrace my weakness clasp,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I shall fear no harm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Thy purpose of eternal good&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Let me but surely know;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On this I'll lean, let changing mood&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And feeling come or go;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Glad when Thy sunshine fills my soul;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Not lorn when clouds o'ercast;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Since Thou within Thy sure control&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Of Love dost hold me fast.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-425488627764734976?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/425488627764734976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/for-rachel.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/425488627764734976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/425488627764734976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/for-rachel.html' title='For Rachel'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-501673023935319425.post-9094630140657798805</id><published>2010-02-08T04:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T04:39:17.058-08:00</updated><title type='text'>First Blog</title><content type='html'>Been thinking about what to type in here for a little while. When you write your first blog you want something fun, witty, excellently intelligent or at least vaguely entertaining to use as a subject matter. I have none of the above, but simply a routine day - which to be fair could sometimes decide to be all of the above, and at other times, none other than as previously stated a routine, uninteresting and simply boring day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when one only has boring days to write of how does one change the routine humdrum to something which might amuse or at least distract. The truth? One can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Routine is part of life. And I guess without it we lose recognition of our own life and we cease to be familiar with our time and loose ourselves in chaos. Some like this kind of an existance of drift and flow. But if I'm drearily honest, I find something comforting about routine and normalcy. And I guess if we're all honest, we all do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today however, I can add to this monotonous post, that it's snowing! I do like snow. I cease to be a thirty-something when it snows and become a child again. Dreaming of days off, snowball fights and sledging and drinking hot chocolate by the fire to warm up afterwards when the soggy coats, scarves and gloves are safely ensconced on the radiator drying out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today though I'm in my office being a realist. I have patients to see, admin to do and I'm not going to get on a sledge after work as I'm too busy studying!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/501673023935319425-9094630140657798805?l=becsadaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/9094630140657798805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/first-blog.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/9094630140657798805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/501673023935319425/posts/default/9094630140657798805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://becsadaisy.blogspot.com/2010/02/first-blog.html' title='First Blog'/><author><name>Becsadaisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15355197140365207839</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-STgpr0AXqbc/TftcQ7Pl3WI/AAAAAAAACDo/sjOHXq90K3g/s220/New%2Bme.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
